Chasing Neverland
by Agent Xero
Summary: [2016]. One year after Walter's mysterious disappearance Peter sets forth on a journey that bends the laws of time and space to find Walter and bring him home. However every action has consequences. Torn between love and fate Peter must choose: keeping family or finding his father. One leads to happiness and the other to a dystopian future that time has tried to forget. [Fringe S6]
1. Dreaming Out Loud

**Author's Note:** Happy February everyone, and welcome! I got this idea because I'm having wicked Fringe withdrawals and needed my favorite characters back on something resembling a screen. I figured this was a good way to do so! I consider this my idea of what season 6 would be like, so there's no inFRINGEment intended in any shape or fashion.

I'll try and update within reason, anyone whose read my works before know that's a hard feat for me to stick to. (But my readers will hopefully agree it's worth every single second!)

Without further adieu I bring you my latest project. I do ask you don't roll your eyes when you read Etta, I find kids who have trouble pronouncing the letter 'R' to be incredibly adorable.

Reviews make the world go 'round! Enjoy!

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**Chasing Neverland  
**Fanfiction by: Agent Xero

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Chapter 1: Dreaming Out Loud

_July 2016  
Cambridge, Massachusetts_

_The summer dawns began just like any other. _

Clear, star-sprinkled nights stretched as far as the human eye could possibly comprehend, past the misguidedly thin layers of the atmosphere and straight on past the moon into the dark, deep unknown abyss. Like pinholes in crushing black velvet, they were infinite. Just beyond the horizon the sun began to peak her nose precariously over the far edges of the world- a giant in size, millennial in age, and the curiosity of a child. Navy-blue night gave way to a smooth, pastel orange-yellow that made the sky and earth blend flawlessly, a hint of day for highlights; the sun's delicate fingers extending ever so slowly across the warmed Earth reaching each and every dark corner the night left behind. Perfect pinks, deep, luscious reds and balanced blues painted the utmost tips of the city of Boston, a watercolor masterpiece Mother Nature could sign her name to.

Steam rose steadily from the heated pavement of the city streets, still warm from the swelter of the previous day. Evenly balanced it levitated across the concrete, blanketing the quiet avenues in a thin, cotton-like fog as the night began to fade. Street lights clicked quietly to signal the different directions the day was to take. Dogs howled in the distance, an automatic alarm clock dictating time to begin the morning. Door bells chimed as shop owners began to carry their goods into the sidewalks to sell in hopes the market would flourish. Intersections were filled with different pitched car horns, beeping off rhythm at one another as commuters made their way to their trades of business, or to their beds.

The highways were just as calm as the heart they lead to; concrete veins twisted with stone veins to bring sustenance to a never-stopping-always-going body that craved energy. Each little capillary, each artery began to ebb and flow with the motions of the morning as cars rumbled down the freeway like cells, each pulse of the metal heart sent more and more people towards the center, giving it life, allowing the city to awake and stretch with the morning sun. They came from all over, honking at one another as the day began just like any other: bagel in one hand, coffee in the other and the morning talk show offering the news of the night.

Outside the city limits tranquil neighborhoods began their arousal; alarm clocks chirped, buzzed and hummed, set for well beyond anyone's desire to awake, while others sat quiet and undisturbed for some. Children slept soundly; curled in light sheets as their parents rose to the scent of brewing coffee and the promise of another beautiful day. Showers began and clothes sat laid out in perfect fashion. Some wore business suits, other scrubs, and even a few casual dressers set their attire for the day in hopes five o'clock would arrive even sooner than Father Time would allow. A gentle wind swept through the trees of each house, causing the massive tops to dance gracefully between the houses. Moist dew beads mixed with fresh cut grass and salty sea air gave the air a pleasant aroma as it made its way past every open window and into the homes of those who resided just outside the city.

Rolling on his side Peter Bishop let out a loud snore as the gentle kiss of summer's wind whisked across the bare muscles of his back causing him wake slightly, well before he desired to do so. Curling his pillow around his head he sniffed and buried his face back into the cool cotton, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of his mouth. Across the room the sound of a closing door drew him past the line of unconsciousness and cruelly back to reality, the sounds dancing across his year as he glanced at Olivia's alarm clock.

_6:02am _

Groaning Peter rolled over and tried to slip back to sleep for a short eternity until his alarm clock as set to go off as well. _Just thirteen minutes_ he thought to himself and tried to force the dream he had been having back, but it was of no use. The scent of Dove body soap and warm vanilla caught him well before the bathroom door opened. He opened one tired eye to catch a glimpse of Olivia standing in front of the wall mirror toweling her hair in nothing but her suit pants and a black lace bra- admittedly Peter's favorite of her collection. Running a brush through her hair she caught him staring steadily in the glass.

Olivia Dunham- Olivia Bishop as she presented herself outside of work- grinned at her husband. "Of all the times you've seen me naked why do you always stare when I'm _dressed_?"

"I _always_ stare but it's not fair when you do _that_, you know," he muttered, referencing her morning routine of a shower and standing before him dressed in only half her work attire. Peter huffed into the corner of his pillow, his words thick with sleep. "I'd rather see you take your clothes _off _than get dressed."

Pressing her lips together Olivia strolled casually over to his side of the bed and pressed her lips together. "Well had _someone_ woken up with my alarm went it off _perhaps_ you would have seen me take my clothes off. So, your loss buddy boy," she playfully poked his shoulder, making Peter roll onto his back, making a face as she placed an arm on his chest. "Besides, you remember what happened the last time we tried _that_ in the morning."

His laugh was slow and deep; lacing his fingers in-between hers he chuckled, "_Oh I do._ I believe _your_ daughter stammered into the bathroom wondering where her Cheerios were and why Mommy and Daddy were _hugging_ in the shower." Mimicking his laugh Olivia rolled her eyes as Peter grabbed her waist and slowly pushed her into the middle of their bed, her wet hair spayed across the pillows as he kissed her tenderly, his hands finding the loop of her belt as she grinned against his lips.

"Wrinkle my pants, Peter Bishop, and you're _walking_ to work."

"_Ymm_," he hummed against her neck, "that sounds like foreplay to me." Peter kissed her again, enveloping her bottom lip between his as she tried desperately not to smile.

Down the hallway the dampened sound of size three feet began to trump down the carpet as a small knock came at their door. "_Mama! Daddy!_" came Etta's muffled declaration as her tiny fist wrapped against the wood, "Are you awake?"

"Foreplay's over, honey, back to daddy duty," Olivia grunted as she kissed him once again, pushing Peter reluctantly off of her. "Come on in, sweetheart," she called. Seconds later the door creaked open as Olivia stood, allowing Etta to climb over the crest of their bed and collapse onto her mother's pillow. Bending down she planted a loving kiss on Etta's forehead. "Someone's up early," she commented as Etta grinned.

"Cuppy is hungry," she motioned innocently to the stuffed dog she clutched in her arms.

Grabbing a deep purple button up top Olivia laid out she grinned at her daughter, buttoning it slowly and raised an eyebrow. "And what does Cuppy want for breakfast?"

Etta beamed. "Cuppy wants pancakes."

"It's _always _pancakes," Peter said as she cuddled closer to him, but frowned when Peter rolled away. The girl shrugged and let her shoulders shrink is slight disappointment. "I think _Etta _is the one that wants pancakes." Olivia shook her head to see Etta's small dismay.

Looping her holster around her hip Olivia grinned. "Go get dressed for school and I'll make you pancakes, honey, Daddy needs to get ready for work still."

With her excitement recharged she jumped from the bed, landing expertly on two feet she let out a holler. Had it not been for her balance she probably would have tripped over her feet as she stammered to her room, "_Pan_cakes! Pan_cakes_! _PAAAANcakes!_"

Olivia grinned as she walked into her closet. "If I could have only a _fraction_ of her energy," Making her way towards the closet she stopped at a dark corner and reached over the dozens of hangers that sat askew on their bar. Punching in the code the safe clicked open, allowing her to remove her gun- always unloaded now. She knew the chamber was clear, but it was a habit since Etta had been born. Checking it she placed the loaded magazine into the butt and clicked the chamber back. Confirming the safety was on she slipped it into the leather and secured the snap around the holster. Grabbing two extra magazines she placed them in her jacket pocket for safe keeping.

Exiting the closet she heard the bathroom door close behind Peter, as her lips flattened, her happy grin disappeared. She could see the dismay on his face despite the sparkle he forced into his eyes. Olivia had dreaded this day for months after… _it _happened. Biting her bottom lip Olivia slipped on her shoes and exited their bedroom and peaked into Etta's room, chuckling as her daughter pulled a pair of blue shorts and a poked her head through one of her favorite Disney princess t-shirts, echoed by the soft spray of the shower as it turned on in her and Peter's bedroom.

Minutes later she found herself nursing a cup of coffee as she stirred a small bowl of batter and poured another ladle full onto the hot skillet, the thick mixture congealing into pale white circles. Flipping another batch of small pancakes onto a piece of wax paper, Etta entered, fully dressed and pulled a chair out from underneath the table. Balancing on the crest of her knees she bounced it in anticipation and took a gulp of milk from her Sippy cup. Cutting the miniature morsels into smaller bites Olivia expertly drizzled a thin line of syrup across them. Placing the steaming, puffy bites in front of Etta she smiled to see her delight and sat down with the paper for her morning Sudoku puzzle.

"Mama," Etta said between syrup-laden bites, "Is Daddy mad at me?"

Putting her pen down Olivia's brows scrunched together. "No, sweetheart, Daddy's… just-" Olivia pondered quickly, but Etta spoke instead.

"Because i-s okay. I -amember what today is." She swallowed another mouthful of milk. "Gran-pa."

"_Re_member, honey, and you're right," replied Olivia as she moved closer. "But that doesn't mean Dad is mad at you. Your father's," she paused, contemplating her words carefully, "He does miss Grandpa a lot."

Etta nodded. "I know. I wanna make _somefing_ to make Daddy smile."

Olivia smiled, licking her thumb and wiping a stray bead of syrup from the small girl's lip, "I think Daddy would really love that, Etta, that's very sweet of you." Naturally Etta pulled away and chomped down on another bite of pancake, balancing one carefully on a fork and placed it in Olivia's mouth, enjoying the face her mother made between chewy bites. "I think I rival your father on pancakes, what do you think?"

"You _bof_ make good bweakfast," she smiled, licking syrup off her fingers. "But Daddy puts chocolate chips in his."

Etta slid off her chair laughing as Olivia gave her a soft tap on her bottom with her shoe. The rubber on her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as Etta reached on her tippy toes to let her My Little Pony plate and fork fall into the sink. Pulling her stool over she began to wash her hands as Olivia reached for the faucet. Giggling she sent fingertips full of water flying over to her daughter, who happily returned their water fight. Dismissing Etta with dry hands the girl trumped happily into the living room to watch TV, allowing her mother to finish the dishes and prepare her lunch for the day.

A deeper set of footsteps walked slowly past the hallway as Peter entered, grabbing a spare to-go mug and poured himself a large helping of coffee. He yawned and popped a few spare pancakes into his mouth, chewing quietly as Olivia spread peanut butter onto a piece of bread. She could see the deep circles underneath his eyes as he popped another spoonful of sugar into his mug, yawning deeply again.

"You didn't sleep last night again, did you?"

Peter shook his head. "I think I fell asleep around four." Grabbing a dish towel he began to dry the plates she set to rest.

"You could have woken me up, Peter," Olivia said, cutting the crusts off Etta's sandwich, "We could have talked about it."

He shrugged in order to avoid her gazing eyes. "I can't-"

Placing her hand on her hip- a sign Peter knew all to well- Olivia sighed, "Can't or won't, Peter?" she asked sharply. "Etta came downstairs this morning asking if you were mad at her, I feel you should know." Peter finally made eye contact with her and pressed his lips together, "But she knows you're not."

He nodded once as Olivia traced his tense jawline. "We can talk about this later if you want, after she goes to bed. Let's just get through today, okay?" Peter nodded again, giving her a small, emotionless smile. "You are a man of many mysteries, Peter Bishop; romantic, exotic prince one minute, emotional, life-hating teenager the next."

"Well, considering that was _you _four years ago, I guess I did learn from the best," he muttered into her palm as she pinched his cheek, her eyes shrinking in non-amusement.

"_I _also carried a twenty-two pound infant in my stomach for nine months, and one I would suggest you apologize to before we leave." Patting Peter on the shoulder he muttered something underneath his breath as Olivia tried to slap the back of his head, missing him by micrometers as he ducked and skipped towards the living room. Plucking Etta from her spot he kissed her and settling her into his lap as they watched Dora and Boots work out where Swiper had hidden his latest piece of thievery.

Minutes later the family found themselves heading out the door, a prompt seven-thirty leave time as Etta ran to Olivia's SUV and opened the back door, climbing with help into her car seat, backpack in hand. Child seats were not government issued, Peter would joke, but Broyles had made an exception for his unofficially adopted niece. Ten miles down the road they turned into the day care and released their daughter to the skill of Miss Emily and Miss Jessica, two of Etta's favorite teachers. Kissing their precious baby goodbye for the day they continued their drive north and like clock-work, Olivia's phone rang the word _Broyles _blinking across the screen.

"No rest for the weary," she said and press the send key, "Dunham." She nodded once and listened intently. "Yes, sir, we're on our way." Peter reached down and flicked on the lights, writing down the address in a notepad Olivia kept in her glove box. "Body found at the pier."

Peter huffed, "Sounds normal."

His wife laughed, whaling the siren at an intersection until it was clear to pass, "Broyles says wait 'til you see the body."

* * *

_Harvard Lab  
4:30pm_

Flipping through her file Astrid sighed, pulling her lips to one side in contemplation and nibbled on her pen cap. "The coroner said he thinks the cause of death is drowning, but that seems too obvious. If there's one thing I learned about working in Fringe Division it's that the obvious answers aren't always the right ones."

Across from her, Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Look at the autopsy report. Normally when someone drowns their color's dusky, almost grey and their skin tone, especially around the lips is purple, not pink. Pink indicates good blood flow to the skin, not the opposite."

"Not just his lips all of the victim's membranes are a pinkish color, not blue. His nail beds, the inside of his cheeks, hell even his feet were warm to the touch, despite the water still being a balmy fifty degrees. A bit cold for my taste," the young agent said. Olivia chuckled in agreement. Biting her lip Astrid hesitantly shifted the subject. "How's he holding up?"

Olivia's smile relaxed as she shifted in her seat. "As well as expected I suppose. He's always been good at hiding what's bothering him but I can feel it. He's distracted, withdrawn. Even with Etta this morning, she came in all cheery and Peter kind of shrugged her off." Astrid frowned. "But I think she knows more than what we give her credit for. Even she remembered a year ago today Walter…" she sighed, unable to finish her sentence.

"It's been rough for all of us," Astrid agreed, her tone dropping as she sighed. "It's strange not walking in here each morning to find him making chocolate milk over a Bunsen burner or trying to make strawberry milkshakes." A tear came to the corner of her eye as Astrid wiped it, suppressing the want to let her emotions get the best of her. "I think what I miss most is all the crazy names he came up with for me. I can hardly begin to imagine what Peter's going through, what you all are going through."

Reaching across the table Olivia squeezed Astrid's free hand, "What _we're _going through, Astrid. You're a part of this family as much as Walter was. Besides, Rachel hasn't been to visit in a while; someone has to spoil my four year old."

Astrid sniffed and laughed, returning Olivia's gesture with her own, clasping Olivia's hand between hers in thanks. "So we're not thinking any sort of drowning death, are we?"

Happy for the distraction Olivia nodded and glanced over her shoulder to where Peter sat quietly in front of the metal slab, an apron tied around his neck and a scalpel in hand. Diligently, and distractedly he worked to continue the autopsy he began. To his left sat Walter's ancient record player as the needle scratched the groves, emitting an aria from _Carmen_. He remained quiet as he worked, humming lowly and keeping to himself mostly all day while Astrid and Olivia began their investigation. Every now and then he'd scribble a note down on a pad or rise to change his blood-covered gloves and begin another of Walter's records.

Things hadn't been the same, true to Astrid's observations. Even Gene's change in demeanor was palpable for the loss of her companion. Here one moment, then gone the next, they hadn't realized how empty the lab felt without him until Walter really was deemed missing in action. The clang of medal pans was absent when he had an idea that struck or the way his deep voice bounced from wall to wall as he sang along with his favorite operas during an autopsy. The lingering smell of taffy cooking did not hang in the air, nor did the cakes he and Astrid would concoct in the middle of the day. Boxes of Red Vines did not stack in the trash. Even the dry erase markers he loved to sniff remained untouched and capped at their station.

Every now and then Olivia felt the need to turn her head and roll her eyes as Walter would reveal his secret stash of some blend of marijuana he created; his recent favorite was one he deemed reminiscent of cotton candy. Walter would swear what he smoked tasted of blueberries. Every now and then Peter would catch him trying to make root beer, or creating his favorite drink. One morning they found Walter experimenting with Cola and Mentos, a mess Peter and Astrid spent half the afternoon trying to clean, and the one crazy afternoon he felt the need to let Gene roam free in an attempt to train her to bring his morning paper.

Drawing in a deep breath Olivia let her eyes linger to where Peter sat, quiet and alone with the body he dissected his only means of companionship for the day. Nibbling on the inside of her cheek she put her focus back to work in an attempt to finish out her day. They'd be leaving soon to pick up Etta, putting their progress to pause for the evening and return to their normal lives. Instead of paying attention to the case her mind lingered even further past work.

Perhaps they'd make Peter's favorite meal this evening, and she and Etta could bake a tray of brownies. Maybe they could relax on the couch and watch movies like they did on rainy weekends. Maybe Peter would stay here all night and work, deciphering the means of the latest blood work and medical charts the victim had. It would be anything to get his mind away from today, to press it into the past just like any other and move on pretending it never happened; pretend like Walter was just around the corner fighting with the vending machine to give him back his dollar when it wouldn't drop his Snickers bar.

Decidedly Olivia closed her file and called it quits for the day, with Astrid happily agreeing. Her and her fiancé needed to figure out wedding plans so Astrid gave no qualms in that area. Leaving Olivia to organize their work Astrid informed Peter of their early dismissal, as well as called Broyles who did not argue, knowing the circumstances already behind Astrid's request. She helped Peter place the body in the freezer and clean up. An hour or so later they departed, going their separate ways, with Peter trailing silently behind them.

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_Bishop Residence  
2:37am_

Sitting alone, a glass of chilled bourbon in one hand and the remote in the other, Peter sat immovably still. Quiet. Secluded; his silhouette outlined on the wall behind him by the pale glow of the TV. The only sounds audible was the gears in the VCR player and the clinking of the ice cubes in his glass as they melted against one another. Black pressed around him, surrounding Peter as he sat like a stone on the couch downstairs, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the TV, never blinking in fear of missing a single frame of it- despite the fact he knew it by heart. The picture was fuzzy; pixels illuminated the small space around him in hints of pale gray and a sorrowful navy blue. Hitting rewind, Peter looped the scene again and swallowed a stinging gulp of his drink.

"_I was here one moment then vanished from the face of the Earth the next." _

Swallowing down another mouthful one his hand shook against the glass, the alcohol created a welcoming burn in his throat.

"_You will never see me again." _

His lower lip trembled slightly as he allowed the video to continue to play.

"_It had to be this way to ensure the future of our humanity." _

Solemnly he hit rewind again, the tape scratching against the player.

"_It had to be this way." _

Shaking his head he wiped the tears from his eyes. "No," he whispered into the darkness around him. "It didn't have to be this way."

"_I don't want to say goodbye,"_ the tape continued, _"But I will say I love you, son." _

Once more he rewound the tape.

"_I love you, son."_ The tape scribbled backward. _"I love you, son." _Again. _"I love you, son." _

Drawing in another deep breath Peter sighed, refilled his glass and played the tape from the beginning, the words he had memorized months ago. The tone is Walter's voice, each minute wrinkle as his father spoke and the reflection of the movement of his eyes against the light of the camera. The indentation Walter made his each word, every syllable he spoke, the decrescendo in his voice Peter had committed to memory in the dozens of times he watched it. He hoped each time it'd help the pain.

All it did was intensify it, magnify it in a way Peter could not understand. Walter was here one moment, then, simply, _gone._

It wasn't until a few days after Walter was declared an official missing person did Peter find the tape in the lab and watched it, clutching the drawing of the flower Walter had sent to him. What Peter found however, was unfathomable.

The tape, they had decided, was not a suicide tape, in fact quite the opposite. It led Peter to search every part of Massachusetts, every crack and crevice he knew Walter would- or wouldn't be. He sat through thousands of hours of security camera feeds from all over the state. The FBI had put out a BOLO describing Walter to every police department and airport in the country; his likes, dislikes, favorite foods, things that would attract his attention in hopes to find his father but nothing worked. Even Olivia drew a likeness sketch that went along with each and every piece of information they passed out, but Walter was gone with no trace left behind. Like Walter's mysterious tape described he had done that.

He simply _vanished_.

In true fashion Walter gave no clear explanation as to _where _or _why _he had disappeared. What boggled Peter's mind the most was the notion Walter gave of living in the future. He had always talked about being among time's greatest minds but unlike crossing universes, time travel was a feat Walter could truly only dream about, and Peter knew that. The future of humanity, Olivia and Etta, that part Peter could not postulate why Walter would say something like that, for what purpose? What did Walter know that Peter didn't? What did he not tell Peter about their time together?

There were too many questions, and the answers Peter desired never came. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and before Peter knew it he sat here, in his living room one year after his father had gone. Peter refused to let Walter be declared deceased because he _knew._ He knew part of what Walter had said in the tape, about being someplace else was true; Walter was alive, and hopefully well, but the acceptance was the hardest part. Trying to explain to his daughter where Grandpa went was harder, but thankfully Olivia was able to step in and try to explain it.

The explanation, Peter decided, truly was the irony of it all.

He swallowed the dry lump that formed in his throat and glanced down into the empty glass in front of him. The sound of a creaking floorboard caught his attention as he turned slowly to his right shoulder and found Olivia leaning on the wall in nothing but a pair of his shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a lose ponytail, the end draped over her shoulder. She stood silently as Peter nodded- a wordless permission to enter his space. Slowly she moved, and sat next to him, one leg folded under her as she sighed with him.

Moving closer to him Olivia kissed his temple softly, running her fingers through his hair and lacing her other hand through his. "You don't have to go at this alone, Peter," she whispered sweetly into his ear.

"I know," he said his voice tense and gravelly, tears choking back words. "I just- I can't explain it. All my life I've been able to make sense of things, that's been my _job_ for the better part of ten or so years but this," Peter shook his head, "This is inexplicable and it bothers me- because I don't know _where_ he is, Olivia, and it's-"

"- Unsettling, Peter, I know." She nodded, tracing the back of his neck with her palm. "But Peter if you let this get to you any more than it has you're going to become obsessed with it, like when Walter lost you in the beginning. His obsession broke him and deprived him of some of the most _beautiful_ things in his life. His wife, his son," she cocked her head to one side as he finally made eye contact, his pupils shimmering in the low light, "I just don't want to see you end up like that; to have to watch you struggle, fighting for something well beyond your reach. I don't want you to miss _Etta_ growing up, to miss our _family _grow up," she licked her lips, "Peter, I don't want to miss _you_." She paused. "Wherever he is, Peter, he wouldn't want to see you like this."

He blinked twice as her words sunk in.

"It's okay to grieve. Its okay to want him back, but not like this- drinking yourself into oblivion each year on the anniversary of his disappearance. Instead celebrate him. Walter had a dream of seeing his family happy, and that was a dream he never let go of. Peter, we're _living _his dream. Honor him by doing that, by dreaming out loud. I think that's what Walter would have wanted."

From his lap he lifted a piece of paper, and Olivia recognized it immediately. Walter had sent it to Peter the day he disappeared- a drawing of a white tulip. "Walter sent me this, and it took me a while to understand why. When I was a boy he engineered a field of them near our house at Reiden Lake; they were his favorite. He would tell me they represented forgiveness and hope, and he wished for a sign from God that He could forgive Walter for stealing me. He waited for years, and then he got this in the mail. He kept it for all these years, and I had no idea until it showed up this time last year."

"Perhaps it's his way of asking you to forgive _him_," suggested Olivia, raising an eyebrow. "Of telling you everything's going to be fine. You told me years ago Walter once believed he could play God. Perhaps this was his grand performance."

Turning his gaze to her once again Peter sat still, searching her eyes for something. "Be a better man than your father," he muttered.

Olivia smiled. "I haven't heard you say that in a while." Keeping his gaze locked with her Peter sat back into the sofa.

"I haven't had to _say_ it in a while," he shrugged and sighed. "Do you really think he's someplace happy, Liv?"

She nodded once. "I do. I imagine him sitting around an autopsy table, chomping on a Red Vine, having a conversation with some incarnation of the greatest minds of our time. Einstein, Schrodinger, Edison, those guys that discovered DNA, perhaps even Oppenheimer himself."

Peter raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Now _that's _impressive."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "There's this crazy ex-conman I married whose _sort of_ a genius; it just kind of rubs off on you after a while." Peter laughed with her and let the tension roll off his shoulders as his head fall backward onto the cushion. "Speaking of which," she patted his shoulder playfully, "You should probably go so you don't wake my husband."

He laughed again, adjusting his seat to level his shoulders with his, "He must be rather buff, handsome man for that declaration, Mrs. Bishop. I'd imagine some strapping gentleman with a rounded chin and soft, yet chilling baby blue eyes."

She shook her head, her eyes shining and spoke slowly, "No, actually he's a scrawny, nerdy little guy-"

"Scrawny?" he blurted out louder than intended and wrapped his arms around her waist, causing her to bite her lip and smile, "Really of all the words you think of _scrawny_? I'll show you scrawny." With ease he lifted her onto his lap, peppering her exposed neck with soft, tender kisses as she fought to break free from the strength of his arms. Refusing to give in she clutched his shoulders as Peter's fingertips spayed across that _one _place on her body that was the most ticklish, and a discovery she let incidentally let Peter make the night of their honeymoon. Wiggling his fingers over that small patch of skin she writhed against his touch, laughing into his lips as she tried not to burst into a fit. Finally crying uncle he stopped, his cheek resting against her breastbone. For a few minutes they lay together, locked in one another's arms and kissing lightly until Peter spoke, nuzzling her exposed neck with his nose. "Thank you," he whispered delicately across her skin, his stubble tickling her chest as she let out a throaty laugh.

She replied as she always did with a tender, gentle caress of her lips against his. Patting his cheek she stood and turned off the TV before taking his hand in hers once again and led him upstairs, past where Etta slept curled in her sheets with her precious Cuppy cuddled up against her shoulder. Slowly Olivia climbed onto her side of the bed, Peter mimicking her every move until he pulled the sheets over his bare shoulders. Giving him another quick peck she smiled as Peter curled up beside her into the crook of her arm, securing him in for the night. Almost immediately he fell asleep, snoring softly as Olivia ran her fingers through his hair again; luring him deeper past the realm of unconsciousness and into the dreams she hoped he was having.

With her free hand she silenced his alarm clock. Hoping Etta would be quiet in the next few hours she closed her eyes in thought. She would call Broyles in the morning and tell him Peter would be late, letting him get some rest before trekking out for the day and the awaited horrors they would be investigating; she and Astrid could handle it without a doubt in her mind. Letting Peter sleep was probably the benefit he needed. Besides, she mused, one glass of bourbon and he was out for a few hours. The living dead could not bring him back to life.

Taking a deep breath she sighed. It wasn't long until she too, was fast asleep.

* * *

_Chapter two in the works! Reviews always appreciated. _


	2. A Picture to Carry

**Author's Note: **I cannot begin to express my thanks to everyone who's left reviews, follows, favorites, etc. Thank you all, so very much, you have no idea how much that means to me! I have hopes this story will be my masterpiece, and with all of your lovely comments it makes me want to get it done. Thank you, thank you, and thank you! It's because of you I wrote this in 5 days, a record for me!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, as I cried my eyes out writing the last section of it. I was going to wait to post for a few more days but after completing this one I couldn't wait any longer. Things are going to pick up from here, and as always reviews are wonderful.

* * *

**A Picture to Carry**

_Harvard  
1:00pm_

Walking down the hallways of Harvard University Peter felt unusually happy.

With a bounce in his step and a tray of fresh coffee in his hand, a bag of small pastries in the other, he strode freely allowing the smile he had been wearing all day to shine. He must have looked like a grinning fool walking through the campus but he had not a care in the world. Whatever had triggered this suddenly good mood was a mystery in itself. He awoke that morning feeling relaxed, fluidly tranquil and incredibly lucid. It was like a weight had been lifted from his strong shoulders. His body felt stronger, his heart lighter, his muscles more relaxed and his mind set at ease.

The reason behind it he could not explain but when his eyes opened that morning everything just felt… _right._ It was a feeling he had not experienced for months, and he enjoyed it immensely. He breathed easy as a fresh wave of July air swept past the open windows and tickled his nose. Summer around Harvard was his favorite time of year. The atmosphere felt warm, fuzzy almost, without a sense of irony or tension to interfere. The trees bloomed constantly and the scent of fresh rain lingering in the air despite the sky being cloudless for days.

Rounding another hallway intersection he entered a massive foyer, the beating heart of the building where his lab resided in. _His _lab- it had a particular ring to it that Peter that found _satisfying_. Left to right he let his gaze wonder aimlessly around the empty space that extended from wall to wall. In just a few short weeks this building would be crawling with undergrads, but for now it was peacefully quiet; the occasional sound of a closing door would suddenly vibrate through the airy corridor and dissipate just as quickly as it came. His heels clicked sharply on the marble floor as he marched onward, his cadence echoing through the vast open chambers of the tall ceilings above him.

Balancing the beverages on his forearm he entered the old wooden doors of his seemingly new found workspace and let it close behind him with a gentle _click_. Off in the distance the scratchy sound of a radio hummed between the walls of the lab, the coppery sound of guitar strings plucked along with an unexpected tin-like violin, and the underlying elegance of a piano keyed beneath the primary rhythm. Just below the register came the bump of a drum, causing Peter to nonchalantly walk in time with the beat. Bouncing down the stairs he glided over to where Astrid sat hunched over some reports that had just arrived.

Setting the coffee cup next to her he pecked her on the cheek. "Afternoon, Astrid."

Slowly the corner of her mouth tugged into a thick smile, "I thought you were supposed to be resting. Olivia mentioned the other day you took a few days off. Came in early I take it?"

Peter shrugged, his lips still arched, "Broyles let me take the last few days to rest up and unwind a bit, which was… refreshing. Spent a day or two with Etta; we went everywhere- into the city, had lunch on the boardwalk and much to Olivia's jealously, enjoyed a day at the beach. She went back to school today and I got bored, so," he shrugged, "Here I am." Leaning over the table next to her he glanced across her notes. "Did I miss anything exciting?"

"Not particularly," Astrid said, matching his shrug. "We're still trying to figure out exactly what happened to this guy. The coroner just sent over blood test results and other than high cholesterol our victim was healthy."

"What about a cause of death?"

She shook her head. "Nothing determined yet. Broyles wanted to let you take a second look through the body before declaring one. We haven't come across another body yet but there was one interesting thing I found in the results the examiner found. He still stands by the cause of death being drowning."

Handing the report to Peter, he huffed. "Then he's obviously a moron. He suspects drowning but there _were _no indications of that. The skin wasn't mottled or wrinkled, nor was there any sort of froth or sputum coming from the lungs. They were, for lack of a better word, dry. I mean, they were _paper _dry which completely defies the laws of death." He nibbled on his lip. "I'll give the body another go-over to make sure we didn't miss anything but drowning doesn't fit."

"I'll keep looking," responded Astrid as she sipped her coffee and gestured towards the back of the lab, "Olivia's in her office, by the way." Peter nodded, smiling at the wink Astrid gave him as she settled back down to work.

Stepping lightly up the stairs he craned his head around the open frame to see his wife deep in thought; her suit jacket hung over the back the chair, her sleeves creased up over her elbows as she sat with her back to him. In the corner the radio hummed a slow tune as she flipped between photographs, jotting notes down on the legal pad as she went. Letting out a grunt of frustration Peter took that as his cue. Placing the cup of coffee on the filing cabinet next to him he grinned, tip-toeing into the room and placed his palms over her eyes.

"Guess who," he hummed into her ear.

Olivia placed her hands over his and pulled them away from her face, her brows furrowing together in confusion. "What are you doing here, Peter? I thought you were home."

"I got bored. Etta wanted to go to school so I figured I'd come in early," Reaching behind him he plucked the hot cup from its perch and placed it in front of her, "And in case you needed convincing I came bearing a peace offering." Bending down he kissed her before taking the empty seat opposite her. "Astrid gave me a brief run down on where you are at in terms of the case, any updates?"

Olivia proceeded to fill Peter on what he had missed over the past four or so days, mimicking much of what Astrid had already divulged. Pulling a picture from a folder she placed it before him. "I'm sure Astrid mentioned the coroner's cause was a suspected drowning, but the results don't match the pathology of it. The lungs were dry as you previously identified, almost like they were wrung out like a sponge."

Glancing through the photographs and blood work Peter leaned back in his chair. He stood without saying a word and exited her office, grabbed his apron and headed towards the freezer where the body was kept. Pulling out the gurney he rolled it into the middle of the floor and cracked the chest again, gaining access to the victim's internal organs. Carefully he took a sample of the tissues of various organs in the body- lungs, kidneys, even a section of bone marrow.

"Astrid, see if you can get a hold of the environmental division and get a sample of the water the body was discovered in. If this guy really did drown there would be evidence in his tissue and blood work. Run another sample of his blood and do another test for diatoms."

Astrid nodded, and then turned to him, "Diatoms?"

Peter returned her nod. "Diatoms are microscopic algae that are found in the body when drowning is the suspected cause of death. They enter through the victim's lungs upon inhalation and are absorbed into the blood stream- that is _if _the person died in the water. If they aren't present in the blood or tissue then this poor guy was thrown into the water _after_ he was killed."

Olivia sighed. "But even if he was dead before he hit the water wouldn't there be some form of liquid in the respiratory tract as it entered the open orifices?"

Poking at the lungs again Peter spoke. "There _should _some form of liquid, yes." He fell quiet for a moment pondering a thought. "This may sound strange but how did witnesses describe finding him, read that part again. Bodies should float in the water as neutral buoyancy is achieved, the gases created with decomposition would counteract any fluid that would make it heavier."

Flipping through the report Olivia spoke. "Witnesses report finding the body _in_ the water; one witness, however, states the body was on _top _of the water, with, and I quote, 'no submergence of any body parts below the plane of the water,'" She shook her head and reread that sentence. "How is that possible?"

Astrid drummed her finger on the table. "No submergence would indicate this man's body density was almost nothing at time of death, like Styrofoam floating on top of water. It's almost all-"

"Air," Peter and Olivia said together, glancing at one another. Olivia watched curiously as Peter placed the tissue samples into the spectrometer and began to input a series of commands into the screen. "Peter, what are you doing?"

His fingers flew diligently over the keyboard, "Styrofoam is ninety-eight percent air, that's why it's almost weightless. It's put together in the shape of polystyrene beads- a similar chemical used in foam insulation, like in houses or airplanes, just the structure is different. While it's highly flammable it's also waterproof for the most part."

Olivia tried to hide her grin, "So you've got a theory?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder at her, smiling, "I've got a theory." He echoed, "I'm guessing this man was killed _before_ entering the water. However if my theory is correct this man's insides, his mouth, nasal passages, his ears, any open orifice that would allow for water to enter were somehow unable to retain that water, repel it even."

Astrid nodded, "Like rain-x on a windshield, the water just beads off and leaves the glass water-free."

"The downside, however, is nothing to compare results to, at least without another body," said Peter.

Raising an eyebrow Olivia felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Scrolled down the screen she sighed, "Well, that second test subject may be sooner than expected. Broyles just messaged me, they found another body."

Removing his apron and gloves Peter beamed. "Excellent, I'll grab the kit." In four strides he was across the room and prepping his field kit, humming to himself as Astrid and Olivia gathered their things and exchanged precarious glances at one another, their eyes following Peter's every movement. Walking out Olivia locked the lab doors behind them, her keys dangled in her teeth. "I take it you're not going to let me drive?"

"You're not even supposed to be here, Peter," she said, tossing a gaze at Astrid who chuckled. "Besides, you're on mad scientist duty."

He pouted. "Mad scientists still get to drive every now and then. _Besides,_ I've got a better record for _not _destroying government issued cars. You've wrecked more than I have over the past few years, _Agent Dunham_."

Exiting out of the building Olivia huffed at him and rolled her eyes. Reluctantly she turned and tossed him the keys to the SUV as Astrid laughed aloud. Clicking the locks open Peter's frown disappeared instantly as Olivia slipped into the passenger seat and Astrid behind her. Slipping the key into the ignition the engine roared to life, and with a flick of the wrist the outside emergency lights came alive, patterns of red and blue reflecting past the exterior.

Pulling out of the parking lot Peter let the siren wail, cars darting left and right as he drove down the center, a happy smile gracing his lips.

* * *

_Bishop Residence  
6:00pm_

"Like this," Peter said as he stood at the kitchen counter with Etta between his arms, perched precariously on a stool. Wooden spoon in hand he traced it along the rim of the bowl she held, mixing the ingredients together. Pulling the excess flour into the thick batter he turned it. "If you don't get all the flour mixed together the cookies will be lumpy and won't taste as good."

They switched, Etta taking the spoon and Peter the bowl, as she glanced upward at her father. "When does the chocolate go in?"

"_After dinner,_" came Olivia's stern voice opposite them as she chopped up apples and walnuts for their salad, "No sweets before then. You'll ruin your dinner."

Etta pouted towards her father as she eyes the bag of semi-sweet morsels, licking her lips in anticipation for the tiny chocolate temptations before her. Raising a single finger to his lips Peter urged her to be silent as he grabbed a small handful. Upon Olivia's exit from her spot by the sink he quickly slipped two or three chips between Etta's small lips. The remaining lot he popped into his mouth, smiling as they chewed. He grinned at his daughter and gave her a chocolate-hidden kiss on the cheek before pouring the bag into the mixture.

"_Henrietta Elizabeth I said after dinner_!"

Her cheeks grew pale as Etta's blue eyes grew wide. Craning her head up at she frowned to see her and her father both shared the same expression on their faces, but in Peter's there was much more than Etta could read - surprise, anxiety and an a hint of fear. Dropping her voice Etta tugged on Peter's shirt, drawing in a sharp breath and whispered, "Daddy, Mama _knows_."

Swallowing the lump of chocolate in his mouth Peter hugged her close, "Just don't look into her eyes or you'll turn to stone. Just remember, honey, _she's _the mean one." From around the corner Olivia's deep voice summoned them again.

"_I heard that, Peter Bishop!"_

Both Peter and Etta laughed and turned back to their batter, now thick and a creamy yellow-brown, and filled the kitchen with the tantalizing aromas of vanilla, brown sugar and chocolate chips. Grabbing two spoons they placed the lumpy clumps onto a pan, spacing them evenly as Olivia set out two wine glasses and a smaller cup for Etta. Grabbing three plates from a cabinet and silverware Olivia shot Peter an icy glare, her disapproval evident in the flames she sent towards him as Peter felt his insides cringe.

It was _that _look, the intensity in her cheeks, the firmness of her bottom lip and the absolute ferocity behind her eyes that Peter feared above everything else, and rightfully so. Good husbands _should _be afraid of their wives, a wise piece of advice he read online.

_Especially _when she carries a gun he mused with a smile.

After washing their hands Etta climbed onto her chair and sipped her water. Uncorking a bottle of white wine Peter filled a glass and handed it to Olivia as she eyed him, her eyes shrinking, daring him to say something else before taking her beverage. He felt a chill crawl down his spine as he grabbed the tin of chicken he set to bake and placed it on the table next to the skillet of rice. Walking over to the cabinet Olivia grabbed a handful of napkins and eyed the few remaining chocolate chips in the measuring cup next to the bowl.

Glancing over her shoulder she caught sight of Peter cutting Etta's chicken into pieces as the two talked about Etta's day at school. Reaching for the napkins she smiled away from them, hiding her secret amusement before popping a few chocolate chips into her own mouth. She closed her eyes as the chocolate melted instantly, causing her teeth to pleasantly tingle. Savoring the sweetness that rolled across her tongue Olivia hid a chuckle as she washed down the evidence with a gulp of wine.

With a smile on her face and warmth in her heart Olivia joined them at the table as Etta continued her stories for the day- the game her and a friend played during recess and how much better she was getting at swinging on the big kid swing were two big topics. She told of how a boy named Jimmy got in trouble for throwing dirt at another kid, and that next week was rainbow week. Each day would be themed around a different color; activities, snacks, and their art projects would all be coordinated. She was excited for Green Day the most because it was the color of her Mama's eyes.

After dinner was over the trio made their way outside as the remnants of the day began to fade in a blue and pink sunset. With Olivia seated in a deck chair, book in hand, she glanced up over the pages as Peter taught Etta how to catch fireflies. Together they moved through the grass chasing the dozens of tiny bugs that buzzed around the backyard; through the garden, between the posts of the swing set, and around the linen line Peter and Etta danced elegantly. Etta's laugh and the chirp of crickets made their melody. Carefully they captured then in their hands, Peter cupping his allowing just enough space for Etta to glance inward and marvel at the pale, yellow light they emitted.

Perfection was something Olivia had only dreamed about in her life but if she could freeze a moment in time it would be this one. It was a picture to carry in her heart through the good times and the bad. It was an anchor, a reminder that no matter how awful, how horrendous things got she could come back to this moment of time and simply escape from the terrors of the world they faced on a daily basis. It was a way to unwind. It was an idea of family. It was the ability to remember the simpler times of life.

It was a place to call _home_.

* * *

_Oslo, Norway  
February 25, 2168_

All around him the world glistened a sparkling, powdery white.

Above the streets, high in the atmosphere pale gray clouds lingered for two days now, hiding the warmth of the sun- an attribute Walter greatly missed. He walked slowly towards the horizon where a large skyscraper stood tall. Fresh snow crunched and crinkled beneath the souls of his boots, his hands balled tightly in the deep pockets his jacket bore. Snow stuck to everything and anything that sat exposed to the elements outside. It sat on window ledges and coated balconies in a fine alabaster blanket. Yellow and red lights beckoned to shine, pushing through the thick blanket until the flurried coned around it. Signs from shops reflected all sorts of colors, blending them flawlessly. It was something of beauty and a sight Walter always found comfort in.

Passing several mounds of snow, piled as high as his imagination stretched, he felt a small shiver creep down his spine. A light, winter wind whistled past him, licking the exposed areas of his cheeks as he stopped at a corner and waited for the street light to change. Cars hovered quietly around him, the vibrations they gave off caused the air between the ground and the rounded undercarriage to shake and shimmer- a sight that he would have deemed impossible a year ago in his life.

Truthfully he didn't mind the walk to the science building especially during the winter time. He awoke each morning during the colder months to find children playing outside throwing snowballs at one another, their mothers whisking outside and placing thick, wool hats and gloves on their resistant offspring. They'd yell something at their mother in a language Walter was just beginning to try and comprehend, but based on the contortion of the women's faces it was not something children should be saying.

That always brought a smile to his tired face.

Walking past the Oslo Opera House, where Walter was a frequent visitor, he pressed his ear up toward the wooden door and caught the distant note of the singer's voice as they rehearsed. It was a beautiful ballad, chords strung together in what Walter guessed as E minor, one of his favorite keys. It brought something hauntingly beautiful to whatever lyric it was accompanying, a ping of sadness that echoed hope in the end of the notation. While he did not understand much of what was being said, the harmonies they created were enough to make him feel at ease.

He rounded another corner and exited downward into the subway station. A distinct hum was audible as subway cars floated past him in the blink of an eye. Magnetic levitation, he was told, had been perfected some decades ago and had replaced the old rail version of the trains he remembered. Walter did not hesitate to freely admit he missed the old _clicky-clack_ of twenty-first century trains as they barreled down the rails. He could not lie, however, and say he did not enjoy the quieter trip and the humming vibrations felt through the floor. The ride was smoother, like hovering on water, and without the noisy distractions he could enjoy his ride even more.

Another twenty or so minutes passed until his stop, the air-sealed gates opened and allowed him passage back up into the heart of the city of Oslo, Norway. At first he was apprehensive but the more he came to live and work here, the more he began to appreciate his surroundings for what they were. The building he worked at sat above the river, giving Walter a beautiful front row seat to the harbor. He could spend hours there watching the fishing vessels cut through the icy waters and dock, wives running out to greet their sea-fairing husbands. Seagulls would hover in the winter wind high above the masts in hopes to catch any scraps that were left unattended.

Walking into the foyer of the building he shook off the snow that settled into his shoulders and in the back hairs of his neck. Dusting his pants off he greeted the receptionist with a smile and walked towards the elevators- also powered by levitation, he spent two hours alone in them one day in hopes to figure out the science behind it. Fascination always struck at the oddest moments, and made Walter crave more understanding of the time he lived in now. It was a scientist's dream premising on both the imagination and the understanding of it all.

The doors opened to the thirty-third floor as he stepped out and faced a large white wall, two solid doors stood tall before him. Pressing his hand onto the pad to the right of the door and stepped back, allowing them to open. Walking past the heavy passage he was greeted by a room that was as glistening in colors as the world outside. Receiving welcoming nods from several of his fellow scientists he tipped his cap. Around them machines hummed and buzzed from different directions as images, depicted in holograms danced midair. Instead of heading into his office Walter made a beeline for one of the back rooms, and placing his briefcase on the door he knocked quietly three times.

A younger woman, Dr. Vega greeted him. She was a stoutly woman, dressed in heels, a black skirt and a bright white lab coat who greeted him with a smile, "Dr. Bishop, good morning, we've been expecting you." Walter nodded at the chestnut haired woman as she stepped aside to reveal a boy, seated in a chair at a computer, still and silent.

"How was he this week?" asked Walter quietly.

Dr. Vega sighed, "He seemed distracted this week. The reason we've tried to understand but he won't open his mind to us. It's almost like he's been secretive. I've come in a few times to see him engaged at the computer, and suddenly he'd close the screen off before any of us could see what he was researching." She shrugged, "But other than that we've made some progress."

This boy was unlike any child Walter had come in contact with. He was pale, his features smooth and his eyes- his quiet, always steady eyes gave a deep stare. He was a scientific fascination, and one Walter felt paternally responsible for. This boy, this _incredible_, mysterious boy did not speak; he did not frown or laugh or raise a curious eyebrow at whenever Walter made a joke. Something inside Walter knew this boy did something many people of this century could not.

He could _understand_. He could _feel_, he could literally _see _past the realm of human emotion and see the intelligence that came with all the aspects of human contact, and how much of a requirement that was. In truth, it was Michael that saved the human race, not Walter. Walter was merely the guardian who traveled here to protect him from any wrongdoing.

Removing his snow sprinkled hat Walter sat down next to where Michael sat at the computer, staring at the images that surfaced. "What's on the agenda today, my boy?" Turning his head slightly Michael's stare connected with Walter's, his gaze saying nothing and everything at the same time. He raised a finger and pointed at the screen, where images of battleships and airplanes flashed before him. "Ah, the Tokyo Wars, a fascinating subject."

While Michael never spoke Walter had been able to decipher a few things about the boy. Like many kids he loved macaroni and cheese and hated broccoli. His favorite activity was reading, and he greatly enjoyed classical music. But there was one interest that both he and Walter shared: a fascination with history and technology. Sometime after they had arrived in this time period he and Michael were walking past a museum one warm afternoon. The moment the large glass windows came into view Michael froze before it, his eyes growing wide with wonder as he stared at a late twenty-first century aircraft that hung from the ceiling.

It was from that moment onward Walter had set a guideline for Michael's role in their research: Friday through Sunday the boy stayed with Walter, and together they would venture out on different explorations based on Walter's review of the boy's weekly internet searches. They had been everywhere around the city- opera houses, museums, different scientific exhibits, even a factory that made the levitating trains used today.

Walter had always looked forward to their outings, a time when they would bond and allow Walter to escape the world he lived in. Michael never spoke about the things they explored, but Walter could swear one day he saw the boy smile. It was a split second glance but it was a moment Walter cherished for weeks afterward.

"Go gather your things, Michael, and we'll be off," Walter said. In a flash Michael rose from his chair, excitement evident in the swift way he moved. Quickly he collected his things- a backpack with a notepad and camera, his jacket, and scarf, obviously eager to get away from the lab for the weekend. Walter took the hat from his hands and pulled it over the boy's bald head, letting it fall just below his eyes. Michael reached up and pulled it back, revealing a smile on Walter's face. Slipping his hand into Walter's they departed for the weekend, nodding partings to the scientists who waved them off on another adventure.

For hours they toured around the city passing tall buildings and vacant lots where several snow forts lined up parallel to one another, their walls still standing tall and sturdy. Children laughed happily and tossed snowballs at one another, cheering triumphantly as the one game ended and another began. They walked towards a food mart where they picked up the ingredients for chicken pot pie and a simple crumb cake. It was a particular specialty of Walter's and one of his son's favorite dishes. Savory chicken, thick, creamy gravy and crunchy vegetables all packed and baked in a decadent, flaky crust.

At the dawn of night they returned to Walter's apartment and began prepping dinner for the evening; Walter chopped the chicken and set it to brown in a skillet while Michael poured over the new history encyclopedia Walter got the feeling he wanted. In the corner a record player scratched a soft keyed piano and a violin concerto and a fire crackled and hissed in the living room. They never spoke, but on occasion Michael would stand and tug at Walter's apron to show him something amazing he had just read, his eyes glowing with discovery. With direction Michael set the table for their feast, two plates and glasses set side by side.

Had Michel disapproved of Walter's cooking he make no indication but each time they made dinner he cleared his plate of everything, the crumbs included, licking the delicate morsels from his fingertips. Broccoli was the exception. Walter was quick to learn that after Michael immediately spit it out, his upper lip curling into the slightest hint of disgust at the tree-like vegetable. He did enjoy carrots and peppers, but broccoli was off limits completely. No matter how many different ways Walter tried to serve him the vegetable Michael would push it away, a microscopic frown falling upon his face.

The rest of the night they would spend in front of the fire place; Walter would sometimes read stories to the boy, Michael tucked underneath his arm as he glared at the page in what Walter believed to be wonder. Other nights it would be a puzzle, or a game. Michael's favorite was Pictionary, for obvious reasons in itself. Walter would draw something and Michael would jot down the answer on paper- Walter was amazed at the artistic skills the boy possessed. After dessert he would send the boy off to bed and tuck him in, with a gentle kiss on his forehead Walter would close the door and return to his chair.

Tonight, however, was different. It wasn't long after he had tucked him in for the night did Michael reemerge from behind his door, catching Walter's attention immediately. He sat up, suddenly alert to the boy's straight up stance.

"What is it, Michael?" he asked slowly as the boy approached with small steps, "Is everything alright, my boy?"

Michel said nothing, except stared into Walter's watery eyes. Sitting down next to Walter on the couch he let out a small sigh and raised his clenched hand. In it he grasped a folded piece of paper, no bigger than an index card, the edges wrinkled from sitting in his pocket all day. With his free hand he opened Walter's and set the paper down in it, his hands returning promptly to his lap as he waited for Walter's reaction.

Curiously Walter opened it, and suddenly felt his heart catch in his chest. Tears glistening he looked at Michael, the neutral expression on his face remained the same as his eyes glanced downward at the picture and pointed to the date on it.

_July 21, 2016_.

Swallowing hard Walter wiped a line of wet tears from his cheeks. "Is this what you were looking for, Michael? Is that why it was all a secret?" The boy gave one single nod of his head. In the picture Michael had given him were faces Walter had seen every night in his dreams. They were voices he imagined hearing again and the affectionate touch he had missed dearly.

Licking his dry lips in a feeble attempt to not cry, Walter drew in a shaky breath before placing his warmed palm on Michael's cool cheek. When they came here Walter had brought nothing with him; not a toothbrush or a hidden dime in his pocket, not even a picture in his wallet. Tears streamed down his face for the gift the boy gave him as his lips trembled. Michael's face stood neutral, with the exception of a single tear that ran down his face to see the happiness that reflected in Walter's eyes. He may not be able to communicate verbally, but the passion that shown in Michael's eyes was as endless as the stars.

"Thank you, son," he managed and wrapped his arms around Michael's small shoulders, planting a small kiss on the boy's head. "Thank you."

Michael stood silently and moved in front of Walter, his tiny hand cupping the wrinkled skin of his cheeks. Walter saw nothing, instead watched as a small smile tugged at the corner of the boy's lips. Moving slowly Michael reached towards his guardian and gave Walter a small kiss on the cheek, a sign of affection that Walter would cherish for the rest of eternity. His hand fell away and returned to his side as he stood for a moment later, then turned on his heels and returned to his bed.

Sitting in silence Walter let the tears stream as he gazed at the small picture he held in his hands, letting his fingers run over the creased edges and across the faces he missed infinitely so.

In the picture were Peter, Olivia and his granddaughter Henrietta, now four years old based on the date. They were all sitting in a park; Peter lying on his side with his head in Olivia's lap, Etta curled beneath Peter's arm in a family photograph Walter had only dreamed about. They were smiling. They were happy. His _family, _the people he had given everything up to protect were alive and well someplace in the distant past, their fates changing after _that _night Walter gave his life to give Peter back his.

Drawing in an unsteady breath he leaned forward and placed the picture on the coffee table, staring it again and again until he could memorize each pixel, each color and texture it represented. He stared until he could memorize the contoured curve of Peter's cheeks, the happy reflection in Olivia's face and the shine that glistened in Etta's eyes as she smiled at her parents. It was a picture Walter would keep close to his heart, a sign of peace, of achieved redemption, and of hope.

Leaning back against the couch he closed his eyes as endless possibilities began to run through his mind of what they were doing. He thought and imagined until the images became real and the voices echoed in his mind. With his head resting on the soft cushion he cried happy tears to know his family had made it. His gift to Peter was delivered without interruption. They had _made _it. His heart fluttered as memories began to surface, flooding his mind with images and emotions Walter desperately wanted to keep locked away.

He felt the warm winds of summer as they blew through the open blinds of his house. He heard the closing of the car door. The Earth vibrated with the sounds of heels clicking on his driveway. The metal of the door knob, cool and solid imprinted into his palm as he greeted his family. He felt Peter's strong hand as it rest affectionately on his back. He could smell Olivia standing before him as she hugged him, a wide smile stretching across her cheeks. He could hear Etta's laughter echoing in the distance as she ran happily up the steps.

She would always run into Walter's open arms, and like any grandfather would he would scoop her up and hug her until the end of time. Quick, agile, happy and bright she would kiss him on the cheek and grip his sweater lovingly as Walter carried her inside the house with Peter and Olivia in tow. Hundreds of adventures awaited them that evening as they played outside, Peter and Olivia curled together on a lounge chair while he and Etta played into the sunset.

She would be his dance partner. His assistant chef. His second in command aboard their imaginary rocket into space. She would be the cop to his robber, the hostess to their tea parties. Once their playtime was over she would be his bed time buddy and story time connoisseur. She would always be smiling and laughing. She would be everything Walter imagined her to be. She would always be that little girl to him.

_Always._


	3. Fever Dreams

**Fever Dreams**

_Cambridge, Massachusetts  
07:30am_

Rolling on to her back Etta blinked sleepily as the sun peaked through her blinds and danced across her eyelashes, waking her well after the time she knew her mother would be awake. She yawned and stretched far beyond her capacity to reach, her malleable bones snapping and cracking as she pushed her muscles further and further apart. She smacked her lips together before leaning to her right and kissed Cuppy good morning, the usual routine she followed. Throwing back the covers she let her feet dangle over the side of the bed before sliding carefully to the floor and into her Little Mermaid slippers_. Cold feet do not make for a fun morning_, her mother would say with a grin as she sipped her coffee. Rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes she yawned again as she exited her room and went to the bathroom that sat just beyond her door, her stuffed dog trotting behind her lazily.

Step by step she began her climb downstairs with her hand left hand grasping each spindle as she descended carefully. Once making landfall at the foyer she rounded the corner and followed the short hallway that lead to the kitchen. Much to her surprise she found it startlingly empty. The coffee pot that sat high above her on the counter didn't pop and bubble with her parents' morning beverage, and the small TV by the peninsula did not chatter the latest headlines they missed overnight. A momentary panic rose in her chest as she immediately thought to run upstairs and make sure her parents' didn't sleep past _their_ wake up time. It had happened only once as far as she could remember.

A loud snore broke the silence, erupting from the living room and echoed throughout the kitchen. It was an unfamiliar volume, a harsher intake than she identified with. Biting her lower lip she began to hesitantly she followed the noise. It reminded her of a sleeping bear, the register much deeper than she was custom to hearing. She tucked her tiny body against the cabinets as she crept towards the living room, leaving room run if needed. Crawling towards the wall she craned her head precariously around the frame and instantly sighed at the large body that made such a racket on the couch.

Standing tall again she tip-toed over towards the sleeping man. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he was a person she recognized instantly comforting her racing heart. As gently as she could she poked his nose. "Uncle Phillip?" she whispered as he snored again.

With a sudden jolt and a reflexive hand reaching for his waist Phillip Broyles sat up straight, his surroundings momentarily unfamiliar until he stared at the miniature girl in front of him, her puppy dig eyes wide with curiosity. "Etta, hi," he slurred and blinked trying to urgently wake up. Smiling widely he picked Etta up and sat her in his lap as she hugged him, "Good morning."

Clutching her stuffed dog she spoke quietly. "Where's Daddy and Mama?"

As if on cue the front door clicked open as Peter and Olivia came stumbling in, muttering something to one another. Various liquids and God only knows what matted Olivia's hair as it clustered and stuck to her face; various cuts and bruises scattering their arms, neck and cheeks made Peter curse as he hit a sensitive spot. Their clothes were caked in dirt and grime. Peter's shirt was ripped in multiple spots, equally matching the number of tears in Olivia's jeans. A fresh-cut sat stitched around her chin and a large welt over Peter's left eye continued to swell despite the ice pack he pressed into it. Wincing he grimaced as Olivia hushed him in any and all attempts to not wake her daughter.

Walking into the kitchen Peter grinned as he spotted Broyles and Etta in the living room. Chuckling he turned to Olivia, "I think that plan's moot, honey."

She entered behind him and sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat as her gaze found Broyles and Etta seated on the couch, their intrigued expressions mirrored the other. Placing her hands over her hips she began to apologize quickly, "Phillip, I'm _so_ sorry I really thought we would have been back well before this, but we had a lead that panned out and-"

"Olivia," he said with a grin, standing with his lead Agent's daughter hooked affectionately around his neck, "I said it wouldn't be a problem when you called me. She just woke up, and quite frankly I don't mind babysitting. I'll just take my fees out of your paycheck." She gave him a tired, lopsided smile. "Did you catch the guy?"

Sitting down where Broyles had been sleeping Peter blinked in an attempt to stay awake. "Almost. Astrid stumbled upon a new lead and chased it. She found the guy standing at a dock near the harbor trying to dump another victim into the river around four in the morning. While we didn't get the perp, Astrid did get a good look at him. She and Olivia spent the last hour and a half sketching out the guy and we sent to all the local police departments and hospitals with an urgent BOLO. When this arrest happens the credit goes to Astrid."

Broyles nodded. "I'm sure he's not going to try anything for a few days, not with the Bureau's best agents hot on his tracks. I'll call Astrid when I leave. You two take the day off and rest up; you look like you've been through hell."

"_Crawled _through it is more like it," Olivia added, rubbing a tight spot on her neck. "Peter and I chased this guy through God only knows what. Astrid got it worse. Poor girl ended up falling in sewer drainage from the harbor's fish processing center." She shuttered, "I told her she's going to have to burn those clothes to get the smell of rotting fish out of them." Excusing herself Olivia headed upstairs for the first round of showers.

Broyles grinned as Etta laughed aloud, content to stay in his arms. "I can stay for a little more if you two need."

Peter stood stiffly, placing his hand on his shoulder, "No, you've done enough for us this evening we'll set you free." Before taking his daughter from Broyles' arms Etta craned her short neck up and kissed him on the cheek causing the tall, dark man before her to blush slightly. "Thanks, Phil. Besides you've got some paperwork to catch up on and reports to review from our, shall we say, less than _exquisite_ night out."

"Of course," Broyles chuckled giving Etta a smile before shaking Peter's hand, collected his things and waving good-bye from his car.

Sighing Peter closed the door and turned towards his daughter. "Breakfast?"

"Yes please," Etta replied happily as she bounced out of Peter's arms, pushing herself out of his grasp and on to the floor. With small steps she ran towards the freezer and pulled a sleeve of waffles from the bottom basket. Handing four to her father she climbed on her stool Peter closing in protectively behind her. Placing two in the toaster at a time she leaned on the counter and stared intensely at the machine. Her favorite part was the anticipation of know the exact moment they would pop up. It was a game her and her father would always play when they made waffles. The winner got an extra blob of syrup on their place.

As if by magic she almost _always_ won.

This morning, however, her father did not engage in her fantasy. Instead he let his chin rest on her shoulder lazily, his arms loose around her thin legs as she felt the weight of his chest on her back. She turned towards him and whispered something into his ear Peter's exhausted mind did not register. The only response she got was a small puff of air across her neck as he sniffed and huffed, nuzzling her shoulder with his nose. At the _clink_ of the toaster his head jutted up and gazed upon her with puffy, blue eyes. She put the remaining two waffles in and followed the same motions as before.

"Daddy you look sleepy," she said evenly as she scratched his chin.

Peter yawned deeply. "Daddy and Mommy had to go to work last night to try and catch the bad guy. That's why Uncle Phillip was here his morning. He volunteered to watch you while we went out."

"Uncle Phillip sleeps loud like you." Smiling brightly she placed her tiny hands in his massive palms. "I-s okay, Daddy, you'll get him. The good guys always win."

Her father returned her bright smile and kissed her chubby cheek. "That they do, princess."

Stepping down the stairs Olivia entered the kitchen to relieve Peter of his post. "I see you two made waffles," she commented as Peter cut his daughter's into pieces, and then handed the fork and knife over to her to finish the job. After drizzling a small dab of the syrup on to Etta's plate Olivia sat down gingerly, her muscles aching from their venture through the narrow aisles of the harbor. In five bites she downed a plain waffle and a glass of orange juice to settle the grumbling that arose from her stomach. Upon hearing the announcement Etta could stay home today she beamed joy. Of course, the only reason she _was _staying home was that her and Peter were both too exhausted to even think about getting dressed and bringing her to the daycare center.

After breakfast they made their way into the living room to watch Etta's favorite early morning cartoons. Expertly she interacted with the make-believe characters and adventures on the screen before her, giggling at the antics the characters had to endure. It wasn't long before Peter reemerged, clean and refreshed, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Taking his place next to Olivia he groaned as he sat down. Olivia curled gracefully into the crook of his shoulder, cuddling against him as she pulling her legs to her chest. They watched, fighting to fall asleep as Etta sat happily on the floor, her stuffed dog always seated loyally by her side.

Once the current program ended Etta turned around to face her parents in anticipation for Dora the Explorer to start. They _always_ watched Dora together. Instead of finding those wide awake eyes and smiling lips, her brows furrowed together to see both her parents has helplessly fallen asleep. Peter's head listed back against the cushion as Olivia sat nestled in a ball against his side, and Peter's arm snaked protectively around her mother's bowed shoulders. Together they breathed, chests rising and falling in a rhythmic symmetry with the other.

Pulling one corner of her mouth together Etta stood and decidedly lowered the volume on the TV. In five small steps she crawled on to the love seat and pulled her Disney Princess blanket from the rumbles of the leather. Throwing the blanket over her mother's body she winced, waiting for her to stir but no arousal came from either of them. Reaching for the ends she carefully tucked each soft corner around her parents and kissed them good night with the silent wish of sweet dreams.

Sitting before the table, her eyes set firmly on the TV screen, Etta sat in quiet excitement as Dora and Boots began their latest adventure. She chanted softly with Dora as they trekked over a river and through the town in search of the most recent object Swiper had managed to steal from Dora and her cousin Diego. A loud snore from her father broke her concentration as she turned and giggled to herself at the strange sounds coming from Peter's mouth.

Etta loved her parents immensely, but seeing her mother and father cuddled together she felt like the luckiest kid alive; her tiny heart skipping a beat at the sight she witnessed. With a cup full of apple juice and a morning stocked with her favorite cartoons Etta sat in her bean bag chair quiet, engaged, and utterly content.

* * *

_Oslo, Norway  
August 13, 2168_

Goggles perched upon his noble brow Walter Bishop stood quietly above the circular laboratory and stared in anticipation at the sight before him. The room was doused in neon blues and dark purple as the black lights above him illuminated each and every crevice not hidden by shadows. White lab coats glowed in several shades of cobalt as black absorbed any and all remaining color in the room. Leaning on the railing of the rafters Walter sighed as he reflected the events leading up to this. It had taken them _months_ to perfect the technology behind their creations let alone make it available for actual testing. Using the DNA and brain scans they archived from Michael, Walter and his fellow scientists had set out to create what scientists of the past could only dream of.

Intelligence, wit, and with Michael's help, a various set of emotions that Walter predicted would push the boundaries of human existence into a whole new, unexplored realm. After tweaking the genetic material used during artificial fertilization they were able to speed up the maturation of the test subjects they engineered. Four times faster than the average human, they were able to grow and manipulate their test tube creations in hopes to mold them into the next great generation of human evolution.

Contrary to what Dr. Armand Hampstead believed at first emotion did not have to yield to higher brain function. In fact, as they studied and researched every part of Michael's existence, they discovered just the opposite of their initial hypothesis. Emotion was a staple for intelligent, enhancing it exponentially. The more tests they ran the greater the yield of data they found. Joy caused the heart rate to increase and neural productivity to rise. Fear caused a variable spike in the brain chemistry that activated the instinct for survival. Jealousy tweaked the mind to create a power over the human soul that he had not considered. Empathy caused one to think _beyond _one's own requirements and into not just what the other human was feeling, but created a link that was nearly unbreakable.

By far the most powerful emotion he found fascinating was the power of love. Copious amounts of chemicals were released into the brain causing patterns in the alpha and beta waves he had not seen since he began his research seven years ago. Love, the most primal human necessity, was the driving spirit behind not just when a person would take action but _why_. The need to protect, to cherish, the intimacy required between two humans was entangled in a delicate pathway he never thought possible. It caused the feeling of hope and the want to better oneself. It solved the mystery of why fathers cared for daughters, and why women felt the overwhelming desire to protect.

Turning to Dr. Vega, Walter nodded as the body before him floated in the massive cylinder, rising and falling slightly with each relaxed breath it took. Dozens of different tubes and intravenous lines crisscrossed over the man Walter helped to genetically engineer. Mixing different chemicals into the blood and nanotechnology to be absorbed into the brain tissue they were close to a break through. In just a year's time they were able to grow sixteen of their test subjects. Their physical attributes were all equivalent to a full-grown man. During the trials they pushed beyond the evolutionary limits set to find the perfect dosages and integrations required for success

Much to Dr. Hampstead and Walter's dismay all of them perished during these experiments.

All except _one_.

Now, floating before his creators he bobbed back and forth in the warm water, bubbles creating a womb-like buffer as they rose from the floor circled around him. His skin was a smooth, almost snow-flake white. His head rounded perfectly as any trace of body hair had fallen off during the second month of his gestation. In the first two hours fingers and toes formed. A week later his first heart beat echoed through the monitors. After a month his body weight paralleled that of a toddler. As the weeks passed he grew quicker, muscles began to thicken and his height increase until he was an even six feet tall upon the fall of the eighth month. By the time a year passed he was the exact replica of a thirty-two year old man in both maturity and physical features.

Smiling towards the tank Walter felt a sense of pride rise inside his chest, as a father would at a newborn. In truth this man, Walter's proud creating, was exactly that. They would teach him to read, to write, to decipher the greatest mysteries of the universe that even the most authenticated minds of the past were unable to uncover. Using the data they obtained from this being they would perfect this man and make several more like him in an attempt to preserve the knowledge of civilization. They would teach them to bend time in order to catalog some of the most influential events in human history.

He would be educated on love, hate, despair, jealousy, happiness, joy and hope; he would learn that the existence of human emotion was not vulnerability but a driving force behind why humans acted the way they did. They would send him through the decades of the past to learn about their ancestors. They would benefit from this by watching humanity crawl through the time when it was at most risk, and watch with fascination as it grew stronger with each obstacle it faced. To see the spirit of persistence would perhaps be the greatest sight to witness.

Standing behind the counter Walter sighed as he watched the final touches were put on this infant creation. He had tweaked his genetic profile specifically to match that of a long-lost friend. His chin was strong and indented, and his cheeks stern and mysterious. His shoulders were strong and his hands soft. It was his eyes however that Walter knew Michael missed the most. They those curious, longing eyes that did not need to say anything in order to say _everything_. He made this creation with half of Michal's DNA and searched for what felt like years before he could find an acceptable match to pair it with.

Computers beeped and buzzed before him as other scientists spoke to one another with hope echoing between the walls. A few more minutes and this man would be born, the umbilical network of tubes and wires removed allowing his lungs to take the first gasp of air outside the water he breathed. His eyes would open to gaze upon the masters he would call his fathers and mothers. He would be the first in a lineage to change the course of evolution in what Walter hoped to be for the better.

"Dr. Bishop," came a voice from the tier below, "Gestation is complete at one-hundred percent, sir. We have successfully birthed Subject Sixteen. His vitals are stable and his neural and cardiac activity rising."

With his arms crossed and his chin set, Walter nodded once. "Remove the tubes, Dr. Sitka. Let's bring our young man into this world."

Motioning towards the bottom floor one by one the workers retracted each piece of equipment from this young body before them. Reaching into the fluid they drained it, the internal pressurized canister breaking just before they pulled him from his birth. Hydraulic lifts moved the entire column until it was parallel to the ground as the man gently floated to the bottom lying supine before them. The top half of the glass retracted allowing the technicians to remove the peripheral lines set upon his arms and legs. They suctioned the remaining fluid from his mouth the nodded to one another as they continued the process.

Taking in a deep breath Dr. Hampstead pressed a single button that sent a microscopic current through the man, starting at his feet and arching towards his head.

The man's eyes blinked open as he took his first sharp inhale of the air around him, his limbs curled to life as he breathed quickly at first, his respiratory rate declined slowly until it evened out to a paced sixteen per minute. His heart rate spiked momentarily as he relaxed back into the warm table and stretched out of the fetal position he was accustom to.

"Vitals are still stable, Dr. Bishop," Dr. Vega announced excitedly as she turned to Walter.

With a smile on his face Walter descended down the metal staircase and stood next to the infant man before him. Placing a single hand on his chest Walter gently turned his chin towards him and connected with his eyes, deep and blue, curious to the new world around them. "Welcome to the world, my boy," he cooed calmly. "Breathe easily for you are in good hands."

Below him the man drew in another deep breath and closed his eyes, allowing the many foreign hands to wipe his shivering body down and dress him. He would sleep for another eighteen hours before awaking to explore the world around him.

"Congratulations, Dr. Bishop, he's more than we ever imagined." Dr. Hampstead said as he shook Walter's hand eagerly. "We would be honored if you would name him. After all, you are his father."

Staring quietly at the man before him Walter glanced across the table to find Michael's shadow cast upon the perimeter of the room. His eyes stared in what Walter believed to be fascination. Ushering the boy over Michael moved slowly until he was standing chest level to the familiar face. They shared the same features, and to Michael's secret hope, the same memories of a brave man he knew from long ago.

Walter felt his heart swell as Michael gave him the widest smile he had seen to date.

"September," Walter declared quietly, returning Michael's cheerful grin. Running his thumb over the man's hairless brow he christening him with his given name, "We will call him September."

* * *

_The first thing he remembered was the smell. _

_It was a mixture of fresh-cut grass, nutty oak trees and crystallized dirt. Underneath that was an underlying scent of freshly washed cotton from blanket they had spread beneath them. Wrapped around those familiar scents of summer was the perfume Olivia had sprayed before they left the house, distantly reminiscent of vanilla with a hint of Coppertone that she applied heavily to Etta's chubby cheeks. All around them wisps of dandelions floated on the wind, dancing and swirling around the atmosphere like gentle clumps of cotton. One by one Etta yanked them and blew, casting her wishes and dreams upon any tiny seed that could be planted and grow._

_Beneath the back of his head Olivia breathed easy and evenly. Her body arched slightly cradling his head in the small of her back. He must have dozed off for a few minutes, twenty by the looks of the sun. Shielding his eyes Peter spoke softly, the words muffled in his head and his tongue thick. Olivia's response reverberated through her body, ricocheted off every curve of her skin until it reached his ears, words becoming heavy and untraceable. _

_His body felt like stone, a fight to sit up and call his daughter's name as she sat just fifteen feet from where they lay nestled closely together. He tried to motion for her to come but his arms felt like iron; each attempt he made to summon her failed miserably. _

_The second thing he remembered was the blinding flash. _

_Piercing and white the Earth shuttered below him knocked Peter back into Olivia. Shaking his head he watched in horror as a building on the horizon shook and disintegrated in a matter of seconds; the scream of thousands of innocent souls echoed through the valley between the tree line. Panic rose within his chest as Peter tried to stand, gravity pulling him down harder with each attempt. With every inch of strength he pushed himself into a standing position and tried to run to his daughter, calling her name as fear struck her face. She stood frozen before him, the stems of the flowers clung tightly in her hands. _

_He was just feet away from her when the second light bomb exploded. He could feel the hem of her dress slip through his fingers; the tips of her tiny nails scratch his palms as she was ripped away from him. With his feet in concrete Peter tried to run past the light and find her. _

_He screamed her name as panic struck. Seeing Olivia unconscious on the ground send a new wave of anxiety through him as he turned to run for her. The ground stretched further and further apart as she slipped through his fingers, falling into a dark oblivion. _

_Tripping over an invisible obstacle Peter fell with a harsh crash through the ground and into a deep, infinitive crevice. _

_He kept falling and falling, reaching out in hopes his journey would stop. He fell forever until the ground became visible and was approaching fast. One hundred feet, he guessed, until the bottom. Extending his arms he hoped they would break instead of his neck. _

_Seventy two. Forty-five. Twenty. Eleven. Six._

_Five. _

_Four._

_Three. _

_Two._

_Taking in a deep breath he sighed and closed his eyes, his heart racing. _

_One…_

Leaping from where he lay supine on the couch, Peter jumped as he felt his body contort and contract with enough force to throw him to the floor. A thunderous _crash _shook the entire first floor. Sweat coated his brow and he felt his heart catch in his throat as a sudden pounding headache began to rage inside his skull. His eyes burned, his muscles ached and his stomach flipped angrily as he opened his eyes to find Olivia staring down at him, a heavy concern shadowed her face. She ran her fingers his forehead and placed a calming hand on his chest.

"Peter," she said quickly, running her panicked hands over his face, "That's it, breathe. Talk to me, what's wrong, honey?"

He blinked twice and let his head fall to the carpet as his mind swam with unfamiliar images. Feeling his stomach turn again he jolted up from where he lay and bee lined for the bathroom down the hallway. Crashing through the door he sunk to his knees. With trembling and hurried hands he pried open the toilet seat as his stomach heaved, pressing painfully on the unwelcomed headache that seemed to etch itself into his brain. On the third convulsion he vomited violently, clutching the porcelain as the pain came in never-ending waves. From his head to his stomach, all the way down to his toes everything burned. Tears ran down his cheeks as he continued to puke; his breathing rapid and ragged between expulsions.

A hand on his back turned in circles and wrapped tightly around his waist. He felt Olivia's forehead against his ear as she whispered soothing, delicate words into his head urging him not to fight whatever had caused this strangely acute episode. Two more violent spasms purged whatever remained in his stomach as Peter let his heated brow drop against his arm as his lungs fought for air. His entire body shook as he curled helplessly into Olivia's chest, his fingers clawing weakly at her shirt for something to hold on to.

"Easy, _easy_, I've got you," she purred softly to him, cradling his body in her arms as she stroked his cheek nervously, and her emerald eyes wide. She traced his jaw before wrapped both arms around his bowed shoulders; her lips nuzzling his burning forehead and her words were quiet and breathless. "_Easy_, Peter, that's it. Just _breathe,_ baby. _Breathe_."

In an attempt to follow her commands he drew in three deep breaths as his body declined from its violent quiver. He nodded in understanding to her and let his body finally relax against hers. They held their place for a moment until Olivia sat back against the tub, Peter's sweat-drenched chest pressed firmly against hers. One hand on over his heart, the other cupped his cheek as she ran her thumb over the corner of his mouth. Reaching for a handful of toilet paper she wiped his lips and chin, giving her a single nod to indicate he could begin to think again. Outside the doorway Etta stood with a bottle of water, her eyes glistening as she handed her mother the container urging Peter to take small sips.

Raising the underside of her wrist against his forehead she sighed, her temperature reading confirmed as she set her lips upon his forehead, "Peter, you're burning up."

He raised a single eyebrow, that tiny muscle being the only destination for the energy he could muster. With gentle, parted words he spoke. "I'm fine, Liv. Migraine. Bad dream. Not fun."

"No, you're _not _fine," she said in her sharp motherly voice. They sat quietly for a few more minutes. "Upstairs. You're getting Tylenol, pedialyte and crackers for the rest of the night. C'mon," she urged him to his feet as he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other gripping the hem of her shirt as the floor moved unevenly beneath his feet. Wanting to help Etta climbed the stairs before Peter, both her hands clinging to his thumb and ring fingers as she guided him up over each riser.

Running ahead she pulled back his sheets and retreated to the doorway as Olivia sat him on the bed. Peter's head bobbed with the bounce of the mattress as it sunk beneath his weight. Pulling his soiled shirt over his head she crouched before him and instructed him to swallow two pills down his dry throat. Supporting his neck in her arms she guided him towards his pillow and tucked the light sheets around his body. Peter didn't just look ill, no, he looked completely _drained_. Fatigue cast heavy, dark purple shadows under his eyes and his cheeks were an alabaster white, highlighting the hauntingly grey color that tinged his lips.

Etta watched for what felt like hours as her mother stayed with him, perched on the side of his bed as she watched him like a hawk. Every few minutes she would bend down and press her cheek to his forehead, much like she would do when Etta had a fever. Her father would cough on occasion or groan as the headache he had pulsed against his temple. She stared attentively until she caught sight of her father's arm finally relax and fall to his side. With one final kiss to his forehead Olivia stood and tucked the sheets over his shoulders as Peter finally fell back to sleep.

Turning she saw Etta standing in the doorway clutching her stuffed dog for dear life as worried tears coated her reddened cheeks. She had completely forgotten her daughter was even there, gazing upon possibly the most fearful sight her four-year old had ever witnessed. Bending down she took a frightened Etta into her arms and hugged her, soothing the confusion that surfaced in her wide, blue eyes.

"Why is Daddy so sick?" she asked into Olivia's chest as she eyed her father's covered body, the sheets moving up and down slightly as he slept.

Trying to hide the uncertainty in her own voice Olivia tucked a strand of hair behind Etta's small ears. "I don't know, baby, but let's let Daddy rest. Come on, I'll make you dinner."

Before heading downstairs Etta padded lightly into her parents' room and tip-toed to where Peter slept, his arm draped across his chest and his eyes deceptively calm. Reaching up Etta carefully placed Cuppy next to her father's head and whispered something Olivia could not hear.

Without another word Etta began her descent downstairs, leaving Olivia to glance hesitantly once more upon Peter before she quietly closed the door behind her.


	4. There Was a Boy

**Author's Note: **thanks guys for reviewing, favoriting, etc. You guys truly rock my world! (and my alternate self's world!) This chapter is going to be fluffy, just because every story needs Peter and Olivia cuddle time! Considering it's my birthday today (2/25), here's my present to you, my fabulous readers!

Things are going to pick up after here; some familiar faces are going to resurface in the next coming chapters!

* * *

**There Was a Boy**

Dreams or memories, or memories within dreams... Peter's sleeping subconscious could not decipher the difference. Each image faded in and out echoing remnants of the last, faces he did not recognize and voices that were agonizingly familiar. Inhaling deeply Peter's subconscious let go of a heavy breath he had held, images floating through his head like smoke over water; here one moment than gone the next, vaporizing into thin air with the gentle wisp of delicate wind.

_Beneath his feet the floor swayed to and fro, a fluid metal sea that ebbed and flowed with each slight shudder the monorail made. The lights were dimmer than he remembered, a deeper auburn instead of the bright white he remembered. The train cars weren't as messy either which was definitely an improvement on the old ones. Truth be told it was a relief to not be standing in something that was hot, sticky and reeked with a pungent smell reminiscent of moldy cheese. Rubbing his eyes Peter shook his head in an attempt to make the world around him stop spinning. Thankfully his headache had finally begun to decline and the white spots in his vision began to clear. Amber sickness Walter called it, his thumb pressed beneath Peter's chin and lower lip as he tracked his pupillary response. The dizziness and nausea would eventually fade away he knew, but it wasn't happening soon enough. Rolling his neck from side to side Peter groaned in a desperate attempt to alleviate the cramp he had sustained for the past two decades. _

_Glancing out the window Peter squinted to try and see the outline of the city. Unfamiliar skyscrapers and structures artistically etched the horizon he once knew as New York City. The atmosphere above him emitted a different hue; an impossibly darker more depressing shade of navy blue than he could recall and the stars were almost nonexistent despite the cloudless evening sky. Perhaps it was relative to the times they found themselves in, he thought. Upon setting foot outside there was a different smell to the air around him. It was thicker, heavier, like trying to breathe in liquid concrete. He had a headache alone from trying to catch his breath._

_One thing was for certain, he mused. They definitely weren't in Kansas anymore. _

He blinked twice before part of his vision returned. At first it was all blurry, fuzzy even, clouded by sleep and unfamiliarity. The third blink forced his weighted eyelids fluttered closed once again with several small ticks as he let out a throaty groan. His arms and legs tingled with a heavy numbness he had not been accustom to. Peter tried to command his extremities to move but they refused, pinned by the neurological weight his nerves had cast upon them. He tried to fight it but his mind pulled him back into darkness and tugged his eyes closed once again.

_A quiet pair of footsteps passed his bowed head, faded leather boots and impossibly straight jeans moved an unfamiliar shadow towards the back of the car they rode in. He sighed as he stood; his destination set for the young woman standing quietly, her gaze set far beyond the pane of the window. From behind she looked remarkably like someone he knew. Pin straight golden locks cascaded effortlessly over firmly set shoulders, the weight of her body rocked gently on the balls of her heels and her back curved slightly. Nibbling on the inside of his cheek Peter 's hand ghosted over the hand rails as he made his way over to this strangely familiar face. _

_Standing next to her he offered her a saddened smile. "I'm sorry about your friend," he spoke, sincerity glistened across his tired brow; "We'll do everything we can to get him back. I promise." _

_She gave no response, but stared at him with distant, sorrowful cobalt eyes. They were a magnificent diamond blue, with hints of silver that speckled the colors of her iris. Her cheeks were round, her hair parted perfectly down the middle, and her nose sloped gracefully into an adorable point he had only seen once before. It wasn't until she pulled the corners of her mouth into a small smile did he notice something else glimmering in the back of her stare, the sadness melting away to reveal a beauty he had not initially noted. _

_Hope. _

"_Do you… know… me?" she asked quietly, her words pausing with a balanced cadence that brought a strange flutter to his heart. Her eyes watered slightly as she gazed upon him with a wide, disbelieving stare that made Peter's mind begin to spiral. _

Glancing up at the white of the ceiling he let his pupils constrict against the thick black of the room around him, with no hints of any morning light; the haze began to retreat until his vision became clear. A nightlight in the hallway illuminated a thin stream of light that snuck through the crack between the lock and the frame. Even the curtains were bunched together tight in an effort to block the approaching day. It was almost impossible to get those damned curtains to close all the way. Across the empty bed a clock blinked slightly past five in the morning. Rolling gingerly onto his back he felt a muscle pull in his neck and tighten angrily as he moved, stretching and contracting twice as hard. He let out a silent curse as his contorted hand went to press on the tense muscle. Closing his eyes to the pain Peter fell back against the pillow, his dream returning.

_He shrugged, his gaze squinting to match hers. "I don't know how I could. I've been stick in that amber for over twenty years; you're barely not old enough-" Immediately his breath hitched in his throat as all types of disbelief began to race through his memory._

_As her bottom lip trembled Peter blinked as another face came before his vision, a striking resemblance to someone he had lost many, many years ago. Opening his mouth slightly Peter paused, his tongue searching for the name of woman standing before him. The woman, who was once a child, stood before him tall, beautiful and alive._

_He began to speak, a work lost in time; his voice became silent to his own ears as her name falling delicately off his lips. _

It wasn't until a soft hand caressed his cheek did Peter's dream fade completely into a milky haze mixed with cotton fog that made the body above him blur. A shimmer of colors surrounded the shadow above him making it glow, an angelic halo that glistened despite overwhelming darkness around him. Her words came muffled to the humming that buzzed in his hears. Blinking twice more his gaze cleared and the humming finally stopped. Above him he found Olivia's pale green eyes, painted blue by the early dawn as she sat beside him, silent and concerned. Gracefully she moved and pressed the underside of her wrist to his cool forehead followed by the welcoming warmth of her lips.

"Hey," she whispered coolly and tucked a loose piece of hair behind his right ear. "You look better."

Peter huffed, smirking until he found his voice. "And you look beautiful," Swallowing a dry, thick breath of air he coughed, the back of his throat burning. "W-what happened?"

"_Well_," she said as she popped two Alka-Seltzer tablets into a glass of water and watched them fizzle, "What's the last thing you remember?"

His eyes narrowed in the dark as his memory jogged, "I remember coming home from working a case overnight, sitting on the couch and falling asleep and then making a mess in the bathroom downstairs."

Olivia nodded and handed him the glass. Peter took small sips, choking instantly on the warm, bubbling liquid as it congealed on his tongue. Making a face he swallowed and tried to think of _anything _to rid himself of the disgustingly chalky liquid. "You got sick, Peter, I'm guessing from whatever sludge we crawled through you must have picked something up. On a positive note we caught the bastard. Astrid made the collar yesterday morning."

Letting his head fall back to the pillow he groaned as another headache began to throb just behind his eyes. "How long was I out for?"

"Two and a half days," she placed the glass down, "I was about to bring you to the hospital until your fever broke around nine last night. I figured it was just a matter of time before you woke up."

Seeing the murkiness of her stare Peter felt his heart tug. Olivia didn't have to say it but Peter knew she hadn't slept in those three days while he basked in the realm of unconsciousness. The heavy purple bags beneath her eyes were a dead giveaway. Peter nodded and sighed, taking her hand in his apologetically. "I'm sorry, Liv."

She shook her head, cocking it to the side. Her pale green eyes shrunk as she cupped his cheek speaking softly. "Don't be. These things happen, Peter." Giving her a small smile he cleared his throat. She reached over him to where Etta's stuffed dog sat between their pillows attentively. "Besides, you had someone watching out for you the whole time."

He reached out and stroked the matted, flat fur of the toy. "I just hope you can make a better cup of chicken noodle soup than this guy can."

Olivia chuckled lowly, "Chicken soup at five-twenty in the morning, really Peter?"

His eyes fell into pale blue half-moons, his voice sleep ridden and rocky, "Oh come on I made you chicken soup last year when Etta brought home that stomach bug."

"Yeah except _I_ couldn't even enjoy it because I kept throwing up," she bantered, raising a shadowed eyebrow at him. "You ate the whole damned pot."

Peter huffed, "Okay so then _you_ eat the entire thing this time. I'll just have toast and maybe an egg."

She nodded once and patted his bare shoulder. Before she stood Peter took her upper arm in his hand, sitting up and grinned. Leaning into her he planted a dry kiss in the crevice of her neck as a silent thank you. Swinging his legs over the side he let his equilibrium balance out before standing, the temporary dizziness subsiding finally. Hooking his arm around her shoulders Peter shuffled quietly down the hallway, Cuppy in hand, and stopped at Etta's door. It creaked slightly at the weight he applied to open it, the squeak of the hinges lost in the low ambiance of her room. Leaning down Peter gently slipped Cuppy into his daughter's elbow and kissed her on the forehead. Closing the door behind him he laced his fingers into Olivia's hand and began the slow decent downstairs.

* * *

_The man before them stared at them intensely, the shot-gun in his hand loaded and aimed down. Freezing where he stood Peter felt his heart hitch. Had they just walked into Loyalist territory? He stole a glance at the man's right cheek and let out a small sigh of relief to not see an ID tattooed on the man. Before Peter could find his words Olivia spoke. He denied seeing Walter before, his vice gripped tighter on the wood of his weapon as he raised it slowly, his voice booming. _

"_I suggest you turn around and go back where you came from." _

_A body emerged from behind this man, the height of a boy. He turned, uttering not a word and stared at them. His lips were straight and locked his head rounded and incredibly bald. Big, inky pupils gazed quietly upon them, his skin absent of any follicles and his cheeks pale. _

"_Astrid," Walter whispered quietly, "Do you see him? A child observer…"_

Another image flashed through his subconscious mind.

"_I keep waking up and thinking that I'm dreaming this terrible thing, and then I realize it's not a dream," Olivia said softly, her bottom lip trembling as she fought back another round of tears. Running her hands through her wild hair she glanced back up at him, her eyes glistening helplessly. "Why would we get her back just to lose her again?" _

"You're thinking again."

Peter blinked as he awoke from his daydream pulled from his conscience reverie by a soothing voice that danced delicately around his ear. He huffed and closed his eyes, pulling his brows up and inhaled the fluffy scent of cotton from her t-shirt. "What makes you think that?"

Next to him Olivia chuckled as she matted the top of his head with her palm, breaking the flat patch as she ran her fingers through his thick hair, one arm draped across his broad shoulders as he nestled his neck in the crevice of her shoulder. Nuzzling his hairline with her nose she spoke lips pressed against his temple, her light breath blew across his cheeks. "You had that ten yard stare you get when you're deep in thought." She muttered, her fingertips tracing the small indent that ran down his back. "So spill, what's on your mind?"

Craning his neck up towards her Peter sighed, shifting until he pressed his body closer against hers, enjoying the subtle warmth she let off, and drawing lazy circles over her covered skin from the top of her sweatpants to the divot below her ribcage. Admittedly he had missed when they did this. With Etta out of the house for the day Olivia had stayed home to keep an eye on him for just one more day. She had intended to let him take a nap that afternoon but Peter had different plans.

With a glimmer in his eye Peter tugged her up the stairs and towards their bedroom, insisting he wanted her to rest as well given the ordeal she had been through with him. He had tried that once before, she remembered, and that ended up with an afternoon of passionate love-making. Consequently they ended up losing track of time and were in a rush to get Etta from school, an hour later than her pick-up time. She gave him a skeptical glare but gave in as he led her upstairs. This time there was nothing extraneous behind his request. That _was _the truth he tried to convince her as she settled down next to him, hiding a secret smile as Peter curled against her, his left arm draped carelessly across her stomach.

"Tell me," she purred impatiently, "What were you thinking of?"

Peter shrugged against her embrace. "You're going to think I'm crazy. In fact I think I am crazy but when I was sick I kept having these… dreams. But they didn't _feel_ like dreams. They weren't hazy or unclear like dreams normally are, they were _crystal_ and that's what I find the most intriguing. The first was on a train, in someplace that resembled New York, I think. Walter and Astrid were there, and there was this woman."

She raised an investigative eyebrow at him. "A woman, are you cheating on me with your," she chuckled, "_Dream girl_? Where was I in this whole thing?"

"That's just it, you _weren't_ there, Liv, and there was something about this girl. I just can't put my finger on it but there was something incredibly familiar." His gaze began to stray as he reminisced. "She _looked _like you, talked like you, walked like you. She had your hair and my eyes, your strut… it was all there."

"Is that it?"

He shook his head against her, "No. There was a boy, too. He was incredibly pale, with shining silver freckles all over his skin. His eyes were strikingly black, and wide with curiosity. But what struck me the most was that he was bald, and I mean _bald_. He didn't have a speck of hair on him. I'm guess he was maybe eleven or twelve, medium build. I felt like I _knew _him, just from where I can't recall."

"Peter you sound like you're describing-"

"-an observer, I know. Immediately I thought of the child we picked up a few years ago, the one that we found in that old building." He huffed, "Call me crazy but I think that was him."

"You had a dream about _him_?"

Peter shrugged against her. "I can't explain it, Liv, but it was definitely him. He had the same gaze, the same eyes, and he hadn't aged a day." Biting his lip he glanced up at her slowly, "Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something. Dreaming of a girl, a boy…" He watched her face remain neutral, trying to read his expression. "Considering you announced you were pregnant with Etta when Astrid and Walter were-"

Immediately she cut him off, eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What _exactly _are you getting at, Peter?"

"C'mon Liv, we've had this conversation before," he teased lazily, "Maybe it's time to think about having another kid. Etta's been asking about a baby brother or sister and when she is going to get one."

She smirked at him, her hands steady on his shoulders, "So let me get this straight. You've been dreaming of a woman similar to me and a boy we think may be a child observer, and that leads you to wanting another kid?" She laughed loudly, "I think your fever got to you, maybe you've lost some of that genius IQ."

Peter craned his head towards her, and immediately her smile faded to see the longing in his face. There was an expression of a lost hope and a bereavement she had not seen before, glowing a pale, crystal blue in the back of his eyes. The lines of his face smoothed as his voice dropped. In his words was a sincerity she felt her heart leap upon. "Family is important to me, Liv, just it was for Walter."

She bit her lip hesitantly as his eyes flickered. "This isn't _just _about wanting another kid is it, honey?"

He nestled against her and sighed deeply. "There was something about this boy, and this _woman_. Ever since Walter disappeared I've been getting these… _feelings_. Memories I did not have would pop back into my mind, and I only contributed it to dreams. It only happened once or twice in the first months since he left but since last week they've happened more often. What if I'm meant to find these people?" He paused, "What if they know where he is?"

She shifted uncomfortably beneath him, "Peter-"

"No, hear me out, Liv," he said quickly and perched himself on an elbow. "When I came back into this timeline you didn't remember me at first either, and you kept having visions of me. You found a way to find _me. _So what if… what if Walter is trying to come home? If he's out there _looking _for me who's to say what happened to you isn't happening to me? I figured maybe taking a trip to New York this weekend to see Nina Sharp. Maybe Massive Dynamic can run some tests and find anything linked to these dreams."

"_Peter-"_

"If that's what's happening here then I _need_ to find these people. They may be the key to finding him. I want to bring him _home_, Olivia." Peter said quietly, "He found me when I disappeared; it's about time I repaid that favor. Walter's sacrificed _so much_ to give us a happy life. I owe this to him," with pleading eyes he swallowed a hardened lump. "I can't do this without you."

Dropping her chin to her chest Olivia avoided his gaze temporarily and took his fingers into her palms. "I want him back too, Peter. I'm just afraid you're going to look for something you can't find." Locking her eyes onto his she hesitated, and then turned her lips into a small, confident smile, "But if there's anyone, I believe, who can find Walter it's you."

Mimicking her smile he leaned over her and kissed her, cupping her cheeks in his palms. "Thank you, Liv," he whispered against her mouth. Lowering himself beside her again he moved arching hips lower until his stomach squared against hers, his hands falling to rest on either side of her shoulders. Letting his stubble-lined chin graze against her collarbone he felt her shutter beneath him. He felt a low pitch hum vibrate through her ribs and buzz against teeth, a pleasant tingle shook through her body. Nibbling playfully on her bottom lip he felt her grin against his mouth, her skin soft and tender as he let his tongue dance across the skin of her neck.

Arching her neck back she tried not to smile as his lips scattered across her throat. "I _thought _you were still feeling sick."

Peter chuckled against her before he kissed her again and settled back beside her, "That was a tease for next Saturday night when Etta's at her friend's movie theater party," he smirked at her as she rolled her eyes at him and playfully pinched his side. "Three hours kid free; you know what that means. We're gonna be sore for weeks."

Her eyes narrowed in non-amusement, "You're such an ass you know that?"

Smiling Peter glanced up at her, "But I'm _your _ass."

"Only because _you_ knocked me up on Saint Patrick's Day that year. I had no choice but to marry you."

Peter grinned, "But you still said yes. You could have said no, Liv."

Olivia shrugged nonchalantly, tilting her head towards him, "I would have said yes either way, kid or not. To have to listen to Walter go on about the benefits of marriage while standing naked in the lab milking Gene was _not _a sight I ever wanted to see again." Against her side Peter laughed with her as he sighed and closed his eyes. "I've got a few hours until our little terror comes home so if you want to nap I suggest you stop talking."

Obeying immediately Peter snorted and settled down alongside her, drawing in three even breaths, and before he knew it he was once again, fast asleep.

* * *

_Massive Dynamic  
New York, NY_

"A child… _observer_?" Nina Sharp asked her narrow brows furred together as she drummed a curious finger against her cheek. "While the origins of the Observers have always been a mystery I don't quite recall Walter ever mentioning an adolescent one. What you propose Peter, is very curious, but me get this straight. You believe what, exactly? This child may hold the key to Walter's disappearance?"

From across her desk, Peter nodded. "The Observers that we know have the undiscovered ability to move through time and space. The one we found from the other timeline was an empath, he was able to feel what others felt and amplify it in his own emotions. He and Olivia had this connection at one point. He helped her find a killer so what's to say he can't help us find Walter?"

"Peter," Nina said flatly, her chin dropping to her chest, "This is a different matter of which we are discussing. Even if communication was as easy as you describe it to be, we have no way of contacting them. You know as well as I do they show when something significant is about to happen. The last time one of them were spotted was over four years ago."

He sighed poking his cheek with his tongue. "Alright then, what about the brain scans we did two days ago? Did Brandon find anything?"

Nina shook her head. "Your EEG, PET scans and the MRI all returned with no significant findings. We did a CT scan that also yielded negative results as well as the sleep study we performed. There was no indication of any change in the structure, both physically and chemically in your brain." She paused, choosing her words carefully, "Peter, I miss Walter as much as you do but I truly believe you are on a lost path."

A laughed echoed through her vast office as he bit his lip, "So you're telling me out of _everything _we've seen in the past few years that trying to find Walter, or an Observer for that matter, both are lost causes?"

She raised an eyebrow and smirked, a corner of her mouth pulled into a twisted half-smile, "Now I didn't say lost _cause, _did I? I said a lost _path_ there's a difference, Peter. Given the nature of your request I believe you and Dr. Fayette may be interested in speaking with one another. He comes back from lunch within the hour."

His phone vibrated in his pocket, bringing a smile to his face. "I think we can find something to do in the meantime," he grinned, his face illuminated by the soft white glow of the screen. "Olivia and Etta are in the building."

The hardened features of Nina's cheek softened instantly, her face lighting up with a glowing excitement.

As if on cue, the door to her office burst open with a metal _smack! _The squeak of Etta's sneakers echoed through the room as she dropped her backpack to the floor, Nina trotting from behind her desk to meet her. "Gran-ma Nina!" she exclaimed happily and collided with Nina's waist as Nina bent down to hug her. "Mama said we would see you this weekend," she bent down and unzipped her backpack, pulling a piece of off-white construction paper from it, "I made this for you."

Opening the folded paper Nina's smile widened, "This is absolutely _beautiful, _Etta, what an artist you are!" Nina beamed as she held the drawing in her hand, Etta's juvenile handwriting spelling out '_Happie Birfday Gran. I luv yoo alat' _in big, bold red crayon, standing in what Nina could make out as her office. In the background she could make out stick figures of Peter and Olivia, with a big yellow bundle in their arms.

Nestling into Nina's chest she pulled the paper down, pointing, "Tha-s me and you in your office," she moved her finger to the back corner where two other stick figures stood, "Daddy and Mama are here, and Mama's holding my baby brudder or sister. Janice at school said Daddy decides if it's a boy or girl when Mama and Daddy are -"

"_Oh_-kay, that's enough," Olivia interjected as she cut Etta off, running her fingers through Etta's pony tail, raising her brows at her daughter, "I thought we said that was going to stay between us, honey."

"_But _Daddy said I can be _a-cited_," she protested and stopped her foot, her arms straightening to her side.

Olivia's eyes widened as she caught Peter trying not to laugh, "_Ex_cited, Etta, and Daddy _also _said you _may_ have a baby brother or sister, not it was a definite," replied Olivia, her cheeks blushing to see the wide-eyed smile Nina gave her. "Go with Daddy to the cafeteria and get something to eat." Etta skipped over to where Peter stood by the door and placed her tiny hand in his.

Shaking her head Olivia couldn't help but laugh as her and Nina exchanged glances, followed promptly by a long hug. "You look good, Olive, stunning as always." Olivia nodded once, smiling, "And what's this I hear talk of you and Peter having another baby?"

Taking a seat in front of Nina's desk Olivia pursed her lips together, "We've been talking about it, nothing's definite yet but Etta's old enough I think. Peter wants another one but I'm not sure now's the right time."

Nina's smile faded in a sympathetic understanding, "You do agree what he's saying sounds implausible, that Walter may be in a different area of time-space, even another _timeline_."

"It does, but given the history we've lived through who's to say he's not right? My memories were from another timeline and eventually we found our way back to one another." She shifted uneasily in her chair, "I just don't want him to be disappointed again."

"Well let's hope it doesn't have to come to that, dear, but for the time coming you have all of Massive Dynamic at your disposal," Nina said, "And I do hope that means seeing more of you three. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to be a part of your family. Etta, of course, is absolutely perfect."

Smiling at her Olivia reached across the table and gripped her hand affectionately. "She's been looking forward to this weekend since we told her we'd be coming down here on Monday. If you're up for babysitting Peter and I could certainly use a night off."

Without hesitation Nina stood and hugged her happily, cupping her cheek. "You don't even have to ask. You two enjoy yourselves, Etta and I will certainly find enough to entertain ourselves with." Hooking her arm through Olivia's she lead her out of their office and through the elevator doors. Walking through the grand foyer of the cafeteria they spotted Peter and Etta waving them over to a table as Etta dug into a cup of vanilla pudding, the white gobs dribbling happily into her smiling mouth.

* * *

_Oslo, Norway  
September 18, 2169_

There were many things about human emotions Michael understood.

He understood joy, fear, want and loss. He could easily comprehend the things that made humans happy; food, company of familiar faces, and the idea of success in future endeavors. He knew why people were driven by fear and the simple annoyance that jealousy could arouse. He watched many times as disappointment surfaced over the face of his gray-haired caretaker and the desire they had to bring the beings like him into their world. He felt his heart flutter to see the excitement in their success as they bred a new species in the chain of human evolution. Anger and frustration were foreign to him, but Michael was learning about these emotions slowly.

Loss was something he considered himself to be familiar with as well. Despite it being almost two years since the passing of his father Michael remembered that night clear as day. He could still feel his father's heavy hand as it encased his, the thumping of their feet in time with the beating of their hearts as they ran towards the device. The echo of the gunshot woke him up at night sometimes; the lifelessness of his father's body as it fell to the ground shook his dreams terribly. He remembered the feeling of sorrow and of regret for not being able to spend more time with him. Mostly he remembered the heart-break that came with it. The ground beneath him was cold as he spun the music box and watched the light leave his father's eyes.

In all the years he existed he never thought he would be able to feel the _one_ emotion that always eluded him, the one civilization spent years chasing after and hoped it ended in perfection.

Love, he believed they called it, was an emotion Michael did not understand how to register. He would hear people say it to one another. Many times he'd watch as caring parents hugged their children and people expressed it shyly in the parks he and Walter would venture through. To feel love was something he had not yet experienced in his life, but that changed in one breathtaking moment. It was the moment September's hand left his did he feel that illusive emotion humans only dreamed of finding. He felt the joy to know this brave man, the jealousy and anger to have him taken away so quickly and the sorrow that came with a broken heart. Truly, he _loved _this man.

He saw it in the moment Peter discovered the tape in the amber. He watched quietly from the shadows as Peter and Walter made their final parting surreal, tears flowed endlessly between them. He saw the fearful anticipation swell in both Olivia's and Astrid's eyes as Walter lead him through the wormhole. He could see the echo of the daughter Olivia loved and lost that night they were reunited. The severity in which Peter missed his daughter was immeasurable. The pain he witnessed as Peter watched his father leave was a memory Michael could never, ever forget.

It must be difficult, Michael decided, being a father.

He watched Walter each night stare at the picture he had given him, a long-lost family he knew Walter would never see again. The will to sacrifice everything he had to save the ones he loved was a nobility Michael knew he could never live up to; to be a brave man like his father and a proud scientist like Walter was a feat well beyond his reach. Even Peter, he remembered from long ago, despite being slightly resilient had grown to love his father and become a better man than he was.

He had often thought that people like him weren't meant to have a home or a family. He was a scientific defect, a hiccup in the gene pool that had brought about consequences that no one could have predicted. He was different, and different scared people he had come to learn quickly. It wasn't because of his features; it was because of the potential he had to change the world they lived in. In truth that's exactly what they had done. They changed the course of human evolution for the better.

Despite this great outcome he could still see past the mask Walter wore. It was behind his tired eyes and wilted cheeks that Michael could see the longing he had. Walter never said it but Michael knew what he felt; sadness for the loss of his entire _life _and the wish to go back to a place where the only worry would be if there was any more licorice in his cubby. This man, this father, this… _engineer _had given so much of himself to help others and wanted nothing more than Michael's own company in return for his sacrifice for humanity.

Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket Michael sighed, running his fingers over the faces of those his father entrusted his life to. Peter and Walter clasped their arms around one another lovingly. He followed the curve of Olivia's hair and the smile on her face. In the foreground he taped a picture of his father next to Walter, the fluff of his graying hair always made Michael smile. Leaning forward he set it upon the window sill of his bedroom and crossed his arms over his knees, sighing deeply and pretended to be back in that world.

Seated in the darkness of his room at the science building Michael crouched quietly in his chair, peering out the window towards the large, alabaster moon in the night sky. He greatly enjoyed looking at the stars, matching each visible constellation with one from his book. The Little Dipper was his favorite. At the end was the North Star, Walter pointed out one evening. It was the brightest of all the stars and would point the way home. Many nights when he couldn't sleep he would watch the heavens for his favorite star, drawing the constellation in the condensation that formed on the windows. The end of the ladle he always drew above the picture he cherished, one word lost written below it.

_Home._

* * *

_Reviews make awesome birthday presents! _


	5. In Theory

**Author's Note: **Happy Monday, Fringe Fans! As promised, I am back from my vacation (Mickey says hi!) and have put the final touches on this chapter! Prep yourselves for some fluff before we get started with the next part of our journey.

Reviews are just as fabulous as you all are! Enjoy!

* * *

**In Theory**

"_For a moment after Mr. and Mrs. Darling left the house the night-lights by the beds of the three children continued to burn clearly. They were awfully nice little night-lights, and one cannot help wishing that they could have kept awake to see Peter; but Wendy's light blinked and gave such a yawn that the other two yawned also, and before they could close their mouths all the three went out._

_There was another light in the room now, a thousand times brighter than the night-lights, and in the time we have taken to say this, it had been in all the drawers in the nursery, looking for Peter's shadow, rummaged the wardrobe and turned every pocket inside out. It was not really a light; it made this light by flashing about so quickly, but when it came to rest for a second you saw it was a fairy, no longer than your hand, but still growing. It was a girl called Tinker Bell exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best advantage. She was slightly inclined to embonpoint._

_A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in. He had carried Tinker Bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust." _

Nestled in the corner of her grand bed Nina spoke soft, light words; each emphasis, every tiny syllable fell delicately off her lips, drops of sweet linguistic honey to Etta's ears. Her tongue weaving magic through each paragraph as she read to the small girl beside her, who sat attentive, engaged and impossibly focused. Tightly curled into the crook of her shoulder Etta listened closely as Nina turned the pages, her wide eyes following each and every picture that was revealed in hopes to memorize it later. As always her stuffed dog rested on her lap, clenched in her tiny fists.

_"Tinker Bell," he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, "Tink, where are you?" She was in a jug for the moment, and liking it extremely; she had never been in a jug before._

_"Oh, do come out of that jug, and tell me, do you know where they put my shadow?"_

_The loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered him. It is the fairy language. You ordinary children can never hear it, but if you were to hear it you would know that you had heard it once before."_

"What does it sound like," Etta asked innocently, curiosity dancing across her crinkled nose, "The fairy language?"

Nina paused momentarily, "I don't know, my dear."

"Why can't I hear it? I should be able to hear it," she protested, pointing at the picture where Tinker Bell stood, her wings etched in a pale, lemon-yellow. "Mama says I'm not ordinary."

Smiling towards her Nina nodded, "And your mother is absolutely correct, you are _far _beyond ordinary. Now hush and let's continue. We've got much to read and so little time to do so."

"_Tink said that the shadow was in the big box. She meant the chest of drawers, and Peter jumped at the drawers, scattering their contents to the floor with both hands, as kings toss halfpence to the crowd. In a moment he had recovered his shadow, and in his delight he forgot that he had shut Tinker Bell up in the drawer._

_If he thought at all, but I don't believe he ever thought, it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water, and when they did not he was appalled. He tried to stick it on with soap from the bathroom, but that also failed. A shudder passed through Peter, and he sat on the floor and cried._

_His sobs woke Wendy, and she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor; she was only pleasantly interested._

_"Boy," she said courteously, "why are you crying?"_

_Peter could be exceeding polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. She was much pleased, and bowed beautifully to him from the bed._

_"What's your name?" he asked._

_"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she replied with some satisfaction. "What is your name?"_

_"Peter Pan."_

* * *

_Central Park  
New York_

Laced hand in hand they walked through the shimmering summer streets of New York; past the gently swaying canopies of branches that were swollen beyond capacity with luscious, green leaves. Weathered park benches greeted them upon their entrance through the heavy iron gates and beyond the grassy rolling hills the park surrounded. Their pace was that of a river brook, slow and directionless as it carved its way across the Earth. All around them the world moved at its own graces allowing them to view it as they pleased.

Groups of teenagers passed quickly ahead of them while older couples sat still and happy in the not so distant past. Dogs barked to one another in the distance, their howling voices carried by the warm whisper of July wind. With his arm sitting comfortably on her lower back Peter and Olivia walked aimlessly down the cobblestone corridor and excited at the edge of the surrounding forest, the grassy knolls at the center of their adventure. Fortunately for Olivia her husband was doing most of the talking.

Pressing her lips together Olivia sighed distractedly. Her focus remained on the uneven intersecting lines of brick and stone beneath her feet, her brain picking up on every little concave deformity in the walkway her and Peter and found themselves traveling. Even the summer wind was not enough to pull her mind from the distant thoughts that kept hold of her attention span. Next to her Peter spoke in muffled tones, his lips moving faster than she could comprehend. His brows would arch, his hair-line ruffle or his eyes widen every few words but to her ears it was an inaudible, foreign language she had hopelessly tried to decipher.

Instead her attention turned toward the family they walked past, different generations huddled in masses on a hill as seven or eight children ran happily through the sunset streaked plains in a cheery game of touch tag. They were of different sizes and ages, cousins, she guessed, based on the profiles she was able to read. Grandparents sat with nieces and sons on a bright yellow picnic blanket, their laughter floating towards where Olivia and Peter trotted step for step. The group chatted and took dozens of pictures, freezing those moments in time for when those they sat with were no longer with them. It brought a sad smile to her face to see the short-term happiness that enveloped the older man's cheeks.

"Honey?"

Slowly her gaze turned to where Peter sat next to her, his brows furred in confusion. She had been so deep in thought she was completely unaware they had stopped walking and took residence in a vacant park bench. The sun that barely touched the horizon hours ago had dipped far below it, dismissing the orange glow and gave way to darkened bluish-purple, touching the horizon at a different point than her memory could trace. The family she watched intently, the company that sat beyond the hills, seemed to have packed up their belongings hours ago leaving the field quieter than they found it.

"_Olivia," _Peter said with force, emphasizing the syllables like he always did to gain her distracted attention.

Finally she focused, blinking. "Hmm?"

"You weren't listening to anything I was saying were you?" he chuckled lightly.

Forcing her lips to one side she sat back against the warm wood. "Was it that obvious?"

"Judging by the fact you didn't even blink when I mentioned I was having an affair with my unofficial mother-in-law, yes." Peter bellowed with laughter to see the sudden shock on her face as his hand came to rest on her leg, "Good morning sunshine, glad to see you're waking up."

Hitting her palm hard against his shoulder Olivia shot him cold, emerald daggers without resistance, as his thunderous voice continued to holler around them, tears welling beneath his eyes. Resting her elbows on her knees, she sighed, cupping her tired eyes in her palms. "I'm sorry, Peter, what were you saying?"

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders he brought her back into the curve of his chest, "I was saying that I'm going to see Brandon tomorrow to see if we can figure out a plan to make sense of these dreams I'm having, and see if there's been any change in the atmospheric readings from the past twelve months. Nina remembered there being a few inconsistencies around the time Walter disappeared. I was asking you if you wanted to come with me or spend the day with Nina and Etta." He cocked his head slightly, "Judging by the fatigue in your face I'm guessing sleep is a priority."

She huffed, "Sleep is _always _a priority."

Peter's face relaxed at the distant gaze she threw towards him. There was a longing, an unsolved curiosity that glazed over her iris. He knew that look, of an unsung desperation to a problem she could not solve, "Something on your mind, honey? You've been quiet ever since we left the restaurant."

Olivia shrugged against the warm t-shirt he wore, "Coming back here just brings up a lot of memories," she paused, her eyes focusing on the distant point of the Empire State building, a faint red and orange glow emitted from the multicolored light display. "Do you ever think about them?"

_Them. _He didn't need the specification behind her inquiry to know who she was referring to. Peter sighed deeply, his tongue probing the corner of his cheek. Nodding once he answered true. "When we come here I do," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I remember the banter between the other Olivia and Walter, and seeing how much he and Astrid enjoyed her double's company. They could understand each other in ways we couldn't. I'll admit, I do think about Lincoln, too. It's not every day I meet someone who can match my skill for poker."

"Considering you never let him win I don't see how it was any fun for him," Olivia smirked at him, smiling lightly. Mocking her laugh Peter playfully pinched her side and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Well I never heard _you_ complain when we went out to dinner," he teased. "I'd bet money those two ended up married and have a kid, if the healing has regressed…" he trailed and sighed, "It'd be nice to see them again someday." Olivia nodded against him in agreement. "For the time being, however, I'm quite content here."

"Speaking of time," Olivia spoke, glancing at her wrist watch as it ticked just about nine in the evening, "Perhaps we should get going and relieve Nina of babysitting duty."

"I'm sure those two have found something to entertain themselves with." Raising an eyebrow Peter mused as the sound of a live band across the park echoed through the air, "There's a pretty decent jazz club a few blocks over from here, and we could go have a few drinks… maybe go dancing? I know how much you like that."

Matching his expression she licked her lips in suspicion, "Every time I ask you refuse. You hate to dance, so what makes this any different?"

Standing Peter held his hand to her, smiling as the twang of an acoustic country guitar perked in his ears, a different sound melding around them, "If it makes my lady happy then I can put up with it."

Olivia sat still for a moment trying to read the hidden expression on his face. It was genuine, but there was a foxy shadow she could not place. Slipping her fingers into his Olivia stood and fell into cadence next to him as Peter held her close, their destination set for the soft beat of drums and harmonic voices that called to them in the distance.

* * *

"_Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry. But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinker Bell. The jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched._

_"Hullo, Tink," cried the wondering boys._

_Tink's reply rang out: "Peter wants you to shoot the Wendy."_

_It was not in their nature to question when Peter ordered. "Let us do what Peter wishes!" cried the simple boys. "Quick, bows and arrows!"_

_All but Tootles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with him, and Tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands._

_"Quick, Tootles, quick," she screamed. "Peter will be so pleased."_

_Tootles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow. "Out of the way, Tink," he shouted, and then he fired, and Wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast." _

With a satisfying grin on her face Nina bookmarked their page and slowly closed the leather-bound cover. Moving just her neck she paused, glancing to where Etta sat momentarily silent and her jaw dropping through the floor.

"_What_?!" Jumping from Nina's chest Etta stood, her feet sinking on to the cloudy comforter, fists balled at her sides and pure outrage glowed red in her cheeks. "Why are they gonna kill Wendy? They can't kill Wendy!" She bounced around Nina's feet as the older woman laughed enchantingly at the entertaining spectacle before her. "Tinker Bell isn't nice."

Pulling Etta back into the sheets Nina grinned, "As is with every story, Henrietta, not everything is as it seems. Patience, dear, we will continue the story tomorrow night."

"_Tomorrow_?" exclaimed Etta loudly, "I can't wait! Is it tomorrow yet? What happened to Wendy?!"

From inside Nina's room they could hear the distinct, crescendo of Etta's parents as they came stumbling in. Greeted by a metallic _click_ from the hallway door, it followed their hushed laughter as Peter smiled like a fool to watch Olivia stumble in, clutching his shirt as she leaned against the counter. Hearing her mother laugh caused Etta to jolt from Nina's protective embrace, almost flying off the bed as she ran through the hallway and hollered happily, "Mama, Daddy! Teach me to fly, I need to save Wendy!"

Before the door closed behind them Etta leapt into Peter's open arms and climbed up into his chest as Nina emerged slowly, smiling widely. "Who's Wendy?" Peter laughed as Olivia threw her hands to her cheeks with an embarrassment Etta could not read. She glanced to where Nina stood, a wide, pale smile plastered on her face to see the mildly liqueur-induced joy in Olivia's.

"She's in Neverland," Etta chanted, "The Lost Boys found her and want to kill her! I need to save her! Tink is not being nice." Pushing against Peter's chest she climbed eagerly over his shoulder and fell into Olivia's waiting arms.

"More importantly, what are you doing up still? It's past midnight," Olivia chuckled as Etta clung happily around her neck, "You're not going to sleep tonight, honey."

Smiling, Nina approached a slightly swaying Olivia, who gave her a rather bashful look, "I'm sorry, Olive, we were reading a book and I lost track of time." Pulling Etta from Olivia's arms Nina kissed her forehead, "Come on, honey, let's get you to bed before your mother refuses to let me babysit again." With that Nina watched Olivia's firm lips curl slightly, mouthing a silent thank you.

"Teach me to fly, Gran," she whispered into Nina's shoulder, "Take me to Never, Neverland! I'll never grow up." Extending her arms outward Etta laughed sleepily as Nina shuffled her feet across the floor, dipping her granddaughter slightly as they turned a corner and disappeared into one of the two spare bedrooms opposite of Olivia's quarters.

With her hands on her hips Olivia sighed happily glancing behind her, a slight stumble in her step as she turned into Peter's embrace. "Those two are dangerous together, you know that?" He whispered against her earlobe. "Maybe bringing Etta here wasn't such a good idea after all."

A low groan hummed through her chest. "You know how you wanted another kid, Peter?" Olivia purred as she stared at him with heated, half-moon eyes her words smoky and smooth as she whispered into his ear, "I'm not tired, Peter."

Peter's jaw dropped heavily, "_Oh_ no, we're _so_ not doing that here."

Looping her arms around his neck she cocked her head, "And why not? It wouldn't be the first time I've brought a guy home. This time I just happened to be married to him."

He nibbled on his lower lip, "Two reasons. One, because our daughter and your adoptive mother are both right down the hallway and two, you know as well as I do when you're drunk you're… not exactly the _quietest_ human being."

Olivia grinned, raising a flirtatious, intoxicated eyebrow, "So what are you saying, _Peter_?"

"I'm saying you're a screamer."

She huffed defiantly. "I'm neither drunk nor am I a screamer."

He bit his tongue, chuckling to her, "I dare disagree, yes to both."

"I only had three glasses of wine all night that _hardly_ constitutes being classified as drunk."

Peter laughed quietly, "Well when you gave up the hard stuff years ago you tolerance dropped significantly. If three glasses of wine turns you into a grinning schoolgirl, then I hate to say you're turning into _quite_ the lightweight." Gripping the collar of his shirt he watched her smile wide, one of those rare, over joyous expressions she saved for special occasions. "I do believe it's also _your_ bedtime, honey."

Sleep weighted heavily in her eyes as Peter laced his arms around her waist and guided his stubborn-to-admit tipsy wife towards the bedroom opposite where Nina had coaxed Etta to bed, rubbing her back and whispering sweet wishes of dreams into her ear. Closing the door behind him he watched her sit down on the edge of the bed, her gaze hazy and relaxed as he rummaged through their suitcase for a t-shirt and a pair of shorts for her. Minutes later they were both dressed for bed, Olivia inching backward until her head hit the pillow, and Peter crawled up next to her. With a grin on his face he wrapped his arm around her hips as she curled up against him, and in three deep breaths her body relaxed against his. Planting a kiss on her cheek, he smiled as she craned her neck slightly.

"I don't _ever_ want to hear you complain when I say I'm tired," she muttered against his soft lips before falling asleep and Peter listing lazily at her side, a boyish smile spread across his cheeks.

* * *

_Massive Dynamic_

Leaning further into the monitor, Peter's eyes tracked each and every line of the graph Brandon displayed, "Have you seen readings like this before, before Walter disappeared?"

Dr. Fayette nodded. "We've been recording these for quite some time now, within the past ten or so years. There have only been a few other times we've seen differences like this." Opening another file he opened a few sections. "While we don't have actual data we were able to dig up some of the other documented dates of odd atmospheric readings. Some dates coincide with when Dr. Bishop and Dr. Bell were doing their experiments in the early eighty's. One date in particular I think you'll recognize."

Clicking to another file Peter's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Winter nineteen eighty-five?" Brandon nodded, "The year Walter tried to save me…" he trailed off in thought, "What about the other dates?"

"That's just it, after the event at Reiden Lake the recordings stop for almost twenty years. I know Massive Dynamic began to digitize all their data in the early nineteen-nineties but that's as far back as the electronic records go. Even so there's no significant increase in any sort of pressure readings. What you're looking for Peter, may not be-" he paused suddenly, his eyes catching a date in particular. "Peter, what was the date the machines were turned on? Ours and theirs?"

"Sometime in early 2011, why?"

Brandon's eyes narrowed suddenly. "There's one piece of data here that is an outlier. The system apparently mistook it for an error and discarded it but look; the radiological data is off the charts," he said, pointing to a spike in the graph that was well beyond the other peaks." He paused slightly, "Perhaps this isn't an error as originally reported. Look," he scrolled further right, "The same spike appears the day-"

"I stepped into the machine," Peter whispered, "The day I disappeared..." Sitting down beside another computer he began to type furiously. "Look, the same spike appears a few months afterward, around the same time I popped back into the timeline."

His eyes glowed as he set the limits into the computer, Brandon grinned. "I set the computer to search for the same readings that fit those parameters we've been examining. If there are any similarities," A loud _beep_ ended his sentence as another window opened up, a list of dates lined the column and where the data was retrieved from. "Peter, look."

"This," Peter pointed, "Was the day William Bell kidnapped Walter back in twenty-twelve, the next was the day Walter shot Olivia-"

"Dr. Bishop _shot _Olivia?" Brandon blurted out.

"Story for another day," he spoke quickly, "And then the data seems to die off for years." Clicking to the next page Peter froze, the date in question reflecting in his eyes. "Impossible."

_July 16, 2015  
Location: Cambridge, Massachusetts_

Brandon bit his lip. "Peter what's the significance of that date?"

Drawing in a shaky breath Peter remained glued to the screen. "That was the day Olivia and I took Etta to the park, the day I received the letter from Walter," he swallowed suddenly, "The day Walter disappeared. I called him, but there was no pickup. He wasn't with Astrid, he wasn't at home, he just… _disappeared_…" Trailing off Peter's mind began to spin with improbabilities. "I need every piece of data from the past five years sent to this terminal, Brandon," his voice quivered, "It's going to be a long night."

* * *

Tiptoeing across the creaking floorboards Peter grimaced as one squeaked louder than the rest, the wooden howl echoing through the silent walls of Nina's apartment. Rounding the corner slowly he took hold of the doorknob and opened it, wincing at the metallic _click_ as the bolt retracted into the frame. Closing it behind him he bee lined for where Olivia slept soundly, curled into a ball around her pillow, hair pulled neatly into a bun atop her head. Kneeling beside her he carefully placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle nudge as he whispered her name.

She jolted awake, turning over and squinted into the dark, the outline of his face barely visible in the room. "Peter?" she muttered with thick, sleep ridden slur. Sniffing once she blinked as the clock beside her read just after four in the morning, and immediately her senses were on alert. "What's wrong?"

He huffed, a faint smile on his lips, "Nothing's wrong but I think I found something. I think I know what happened to Walter."

Olivia groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Not _this_ again, Peter, please."

"No, hear me out," he said quickly and sat on the bed beside her. "Brandon and I were sorting through data and there were some past readings that mirrored the ones from the day Walter disappeared. Olivia, they were almost the same readings from when I disappeared from this timeline," he cupped her cheek, "Olivia, I think I know how to get him back. It's just a skeleton of a plan but I have an idea."

Blinking the sleep from her eyes Olivia sighed to see the desperation in his; the wide-eyed, doe face he gave her was enough to pull her from her slumber and follow him into the kitchen where he set his laptop up. Squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp, piercing white light she sat down beside him sleepily, taking a swig of the hot coffee beside him. In small sentences he began to recap the data he and Brandon had discovered, pulling up a variety of charts and graphs he had made to compare the data. Most of what he spoke of was scientific chatter well beyond her level of comprehension, _especially _at four in the morning.

"This is just a preliminary plan but I need more research. Brandon put in a request to have the blueprints for the machine sent to the lab at Harvard on Monday," he said, pointing towards the latest graph.

With her head listing heavily on her elbow, Olivia's attention rose suddenly. "The machine?"

Peter nodded. "The machine. Walter once theorized that it had a greater purpose other than allowing me to see the future if I hadn't made a different choice. At first we thought it was the machine that pulled me from my life here, but it wasn't. It was the Observers, September specifically. If it was powerful enough to send my conscience there…" he trailed off, watching as Olivia's eyes widened. "Perhaps it's powerful enough to send _me _through time, with some adjustments and tweaking, what if it's possible, Liv? If we can figure out where Walter went, if he _was _pulled from this timeline, the maybe we can find him and bring him home."

She sighed, seeing the false hope that reigned in his eyes. "Peter, I thought we were past this theorizing of what happened to Walter months ago. I want to find him as much as you do, honey, but where would you even _start_?"

"We start slow," he whispered hopefully, "Brandon and I have been trying to figure out a way to contact the Observers. We haven't seen one in almost four years, but I think it's a key factor. Next is to do further tests and research on the machine. If Walter's theory was correct then _hypothetically_ we can alter it to fit our needs. Walter and I did that with the biological interface we created, remember?"

Olivia sighed, nodding. "Even after all your tests our results were the same. We know nothing more about the machine than we did the day you were pulled from this timeline. Both you and Walter did months of tests on it and found nothing conclusive, _remember_?"

"_We _don't know more about it, but someone else does," he turned towards her, a single eyebrow raised.

Sitting up straight her eyes crinkled. "You're not saying-"

Peter nodded. "Yes I am. There's only one person who can tell us what we want to know. He knows the machine better than any of us, Walter included. He may be our key to unlocking the full potential the machine holds, Olivia," he whispered, "Help me find him, you know him better than I do. Pool our resources with Nina while Brandon and I try to figure out a way to contact the Observers and hammer out the details."

She mimicked his nod. "Even if it is possible to find him, the last we saw of him was the day you stepped into the machine- Nina hasn't heard from him either. But... I'll call Astrid in the morning to see if we can find his last known whereabouts," She stopped Peter's hand as it reached for the phone, "_After _you get some sleep. A genius mind like yours doesn't take kindly to sleep deprivation." Peter smiled tiredly at her before standing and following her down the hallway. Even before falling against the pillow he was fast asleep, tucked beneath the light sheets as the clock continued to click the minutes away.

The only source of light from the living room was Peter's computer, open and alert the processor hummed heavily, relieved to rest after the workout Peter had put it through. Several documents sat open on the screen, charts, graphs, pages of data. An open Word document took up most of the screen, the ideas Peter jotted down and foot-noted glowed a bright white against the dark black of the room. Blinking slowly, two single words sat etched on to the screen just beyond the digital cursor.

Over and over it blinked, silent and summoning: _Sam Weiss._


	6. What Once Was Lost

**Author's Note: **Hi guys! Sorry for the delay, it's been a really busy past three weeks! Without further adieu, chapter 6! Reviews are wonderful! C'mon there's a whole bunch of you who favorite; leave me some love! =]

Also thank you to the fabulous Kylie for honoring this fic with one of her fabulous drawings. Credit to her for the cover art. If you're not familiar with her work, check her out on tumblr- pen name: wildheart71. She has some astounding POlivia works! An absolutely fabulous artist!

Now begins part 2 of our story, this chapter aimed to propel us forward with a big revelation… enjoy!

* * *

**What Once Was Lost**

_Oslo, Norway  
October 30, 2169_

The man before him was nothing short of a mystery.

While the mystery in itself was rather self-explanatory, still, September found himself once again gazing in wonder upon the man he called Father. Each night they would sit in a dusk colored room, a single light on a holographic screen and study time, examine history, and study again. During his upbringing as Walter would call it, they would often discuss a certain aspect of the human brain and stud it and the effects Walter could elicit from him; speech and human cognitive functions were always on the list, but first and foremost came human emotion. It was the driving before behind human action, concluded September.

His father, his _creator _was a man September had a difficult time understanding. When they would practice identifying emotion the actions Walter would portray and what he _presented_ were two very contrasting ideas. Walter would smile, his graying brows would rise and arch along with the corners of his cheeks, an emotion September could associate with happiness, but what he _saw _was something entirely different. In the wrinkles of his skin, the tremble of his lips, even the glassy sheen of his eyes September could see sadness, longing, and the outline of a face he could not identify.

"Why do humans do that?" He asked quietly during one October evening, the trees began to turn and the air began to nip, "Why do you trick me?"

In the small space before him, his head perched heavily on his hand Walter glanced upward and sat up straight, confusion easily identifiable in his features. "Trick you? I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

September's head dropped to his chest. "We have spent several hours going over human happiness and joy. You said it was the most important, however earlier today I saw a difference in you; your eyes began to glisten not with joy but with sorrow. The lines in your forehead indicated sadness, and the corners of your mouth dipped slightly indicative of a fable. We have studied why humans have many emotions but not why they would give a false representation of their feelings. Is this a new part of our lessons, Dr. Bishop?"

Walter sat still for just a moment. "No. I'm sorry it was not my intention to give you the wrong representation."

Tilting his head slightly September gave Walter a small, significant grin. "Apologies are not necessary. It has to do with the man you call son. Peter. A significant event has occurred that you remember," he squinted, Walter's thoughts echoing just beyond his range of hearing. "His birthday has passed. You miss him very much."

A slight tremble jolted through Walter's chest, "I do miss him," he swallowed, "I gave my life so he could have a happy future."

"That is called… love," he said, a hint of accomplished tonicity in his voice, "Nobility at its finest."

Walter grinned in the low light, "I see your sense of humor is improving."

"Not humor," he reported factually, sitting tall in his chair, "But honesty. It is a sacrifice that should not be omitted." It wasn't until Walter's lips flattened and arched low did September pick something else up, reading the lines of his cheeks. "You have another feeling, Dr. Bishop. There was a small flicker in your eyes… what is it?"

The Doctor sighed, whispering painfully, "I was not able to say goodbye to my son or to my family. I thought I had more time but all I could leave him was a video tape. Peter doesn't know where I am and I think that's what scares me the most. He was always able to find me, no matter where I went. This time he can't."

September stilled momentarily. Slowly he reached outward and grasped Walter's dry, aged hand in his. "Perhaps someday he will find you. Or maybe, Doctor Bishop, someday you will find him. I believe you call it… hope."

Giving him another sad smile Walter nodded, oblivious to the meaning behind his heartfelt words.

A small, almost silent rap at the door frame revealed Michael standing behind it, the tip of his curious nose crested over the metal. "Ahh, Michael," stated Walter, happy for the distraction, "Is it that time of day already? Let me grab my coat and we'll be off." He stood quickly and exited, leaving September and the boy in the room.

Alone. Uncomfortably alone.

For many months September had tried to befriend this small boy. Dr. Bishop had told September it was Michael's DNA that had allowed for his creation. What he had left out was the story about how he and Michael came to exist simultaneously in this time. Michael never spoke. He didn't need to. September could see it in his eyes, the reflection of the ghost he reminded the boy of, a familiar face that seemed so incredibly distant. He did not want to frighten the boy but each step he took drove him further away.

Now, standing frozen beyond the door frame Michael stood staring at the tall man before him. Their brows were the same, and their dark eyes almost rounded perfectly. A slight slope in the nose and ballooning cheeks mirrored the other, with just a hint of curiosity that glowed in their eyes. To one, the other was a mystery. Biologically they were the same, with the same abilities for thought comprehension, for the processing of human emotion, even the way they tilted their head was able to be replicated.

And yet they were complete strangers.

September stood quickly reaching for the boy as he spoke his name. A jolt of a fear, like an electric bolt made him jump from his steady stance. Instantly Michael ran; a pale, hot blush reddened his cheeks as he inhaled sharply. The adrenaline from his slight panic caused his sneakers to squeak against the linoleum in a fear-driven symphony of tight turns and booming steps. Sighing September bowed his head. There were repercussions to looking like a living ghost, he was beginning to learn, and not all ghosts to children were friendly. No matter how many times he asked Walter refused to tell him who he resembled to the boy.

"September," came Walter's quiet inquiry, "We will be off now. I'm glad to see improvements. Perhaps next week we can begin discussing more complex emotions. I also heard Dr. Vega was beginning her time trials this weekend. Be safe, my friend."

With a single nod he replied, slowly and low and a smile on his lips. "As to you, Dr. Bishop." His vision averted down slightly, linking with the child that held Walter's hand tightly. "Good day, Michael."

As always he said nothing, but kept his gaze just a moment more until Walter nudged him along, leaving September alone once again, and the glow of the computer the only light in the dark, dark room.

* * *

_Harvard University  
September 2016_

One month. Four days. Endless hours.

Thirty-five stress driven, frustration inducing, keyboard hammering, pencil snapping, caffeine consuming, restless days since Peter began his search for the missing piece of the puzzle and still they came up with _nothing._ Their plan wasn't perfect by any means but certainly he had hoped to find _some_ sort of lead by now. Brandon and Peter had spent seventy-two continuous hours poring over every little detail, each minute step to bring Peter's dream into reality. Find Sam Weiss it began; surely a man like him wouldn't be too hard to find. How many Sam Weiss's with a last known Boston address and who operated a bowling alley could there possibly be?

Zero, Peter had come to find. Even in the entire _country_ there was not one business owned and operated by anyone named Sam Weiss, and everything they did come across had no near resemblance to the man they were searching for. Interpol found nothing. AFIS found nothing. The motor vehicle commissions in each state came up empty. Just for the hell of it he checked the criminal databases they monitored, and much to his lack of surprise they too had nothing.

Sighing Peter groaned, rubbing his eyes as those three expected and disappointing words flashed across his screen.

_NO RESULTS FOUND._

Hitting the space bar harder than intended the window closed bringing another dismayed end to a hopeful search. This time he was sure he had found him. They had tried every known anagram Sam had used for his name, including the ones from the First People books Olivia remembered. It was as if he had disappeared just like Walter did; out of existence and into thin air with no trace left behind.

Rubbing his tired eyes Peter reached over and turned off the monitor, the stiff muscles in his shoulders pulled unforgiving for being forced to stay in the same position for almost three hours. He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder grimacing as they tightened. The pins and needles that settled in his legs had disappeared long ago, replaced by a heavy numbing sensation that made him feel even more weighted, pulling his body deeper into the Earth beneath him.

"Sitting like that is not good for your posture, you know," came Olivia from behind him, her palms conformed to his back, nudging the tips of her thumbs on either side of his tense shoulder blades. "Neither is that stool. I don't want to hear you complain when you herniate a disk by the time you're forty." That caused a small smile to tug from Peter's lips as he let his head slip into his hands. "Any luck?"

"Nothing," he sighed, defeated. "According to every database we have access to there is no Sam Weiss in Boston, the United States, and hell, even the world that owns or has operated a bowling alley. I tried anagrams, facial recognition from the sketch you drew… I even tried searching for the First People books and they couldn't tell us anything about the author." He glanced over to where Astrid sat with Etta as they played a board game. "Even Astrid couldn't find a code or something hidden in the books and she's the best one I know for that. I went through the tape again, through every inch of this lab and I found nothing that can help us find Sam or Walter. I just… I don't know. I'm lost."

Digging deeper into the muscles of his back Olivia sighed against his shoulder, pressing her lips over the cloth of his shirt. "We never said this was going to be an immediate thing, Peter. For all we know it could take years until we even have a lead. I know you don't want to hear that but its reality." She paused as Peter remained still, smiling against the back of his head. "Patience was never one of your strengths, either and I know that doesn't help. Just don't lose hope, Peter. If there's anyone who can find Walter it's you."

His head bobbed. "I know." Turning in the stood he let his shoulders drop and held her gaze just a moment longer than intended.

A tiny tug at the back of her suit jacked caused Peter and Olivia to glance backward as Etta peered up to them with big doe eyes. "Mama, I'm hungry," she moaned, rubbing her stomach. "Can we go home soon?"

Turning Olivia glanced at Peter encouragingly. "Come on. Why don't we call it quits, go out to dinner tonight for a change."

Etta's eyes lit up. "Can we go to Damon's? I want to race Daddy on the games!"

Peter smiled, "Damon's it is. Astrid," he called to her, "You and Frank want to join us for dinner?"

Buttoning her jacket Astrid beamed. "I would but we've got to meet with the caterer tonight, rain check?" Peter nodded as she quickly parted, answering her phone as she headed towards her office. "Hey Liv," he said, turning around quickly, "Did you ever ask Broyles about putting something up over the news?"

She nodded. "He wasn't too sold on the idea but I'm working on it."

The pitter-patter of footsteps echoed through the vast stone walls as Etta came running from Olivia's back office, her backpack, sneakers and water bottle all clutched to her chest. "I wanna play the racing game first!" Throwing her belongings down beside her, the metal canteen fell to the ground with a loud metallic _bang!_ Etta leaned against the table, sliding down slowly to the ground to slip on her sneaker.

That was all it took for Peter's vision to explode.

_Panic filled him instantly. "No, no, no, no," he muttered falling to the ground beside her, blood pouring from gaping wound in her chest. "God, no." Glass cut into his knees as he pressed hard against her chest, feeling the crepitus of her blood-soaked bones that lay just beyond his fingertips. Her eyes were empty. Glassy. Almost lifeless. Tears welled in his eyes as Peter felt her heart beat harder beneath her his hands, her shirt stained with black revenge. _

"_Etta," Olivia's voice quivered unevenly, her hands grasping their daughter's cold cheeks as she knelt in front of her. "Look at me, honey, you're going to be okay." He watched her pant nervously, trying to keep calm, "We need to move you." _

"_We're not going to leave you here," Peter argued. He couldn't. He couldn't leave her. Not again._

"_No," Etta choked quietly, "There's no point." He felt her heart beat slower. Her breath almost ceased, his words sounded garbled in his own mind. Instead she offered him a final, small grin. "You have to." Slowly her words began to thicken as she fought to breathe, "I'll slow you down." _

_No, he wanted to tell her. He'd cut out his own heart if that meant taking her with them. He'd run faster than the wind if that could bring her back. Peter froze at that moment, watching her eyes begin to close, tears draining from their pools as her skin turned gray, her vision distant. Next to him Olivia's body trembled as she ripped her jacket from her shoulders and pressed her hands over Peter's willing the hole in her chest to close, to make their family complete it again. _

_All it did was open bigger, Etta once again slipping just past their fingertips. _

"_You have to leave," she whispered. Concealed next to her an off pitch beep sounded as the amber numbers ticking down her remaining seconds with them. _

_All Peter could do was stare blankly at his palms, his fingers sticking to her cheek. He'd give anything to bring her with them, but she was even colder than before. _

"_Etta," Olivia spoke, calling her daughter's everlasting eyes. "I love you. So. Much." It was a final declaration that could put her to peace. Olivia knew that. How many people had the chance to tell someone they loved them before they died? How many people had the gift of doing that twice before they lost someone?_

_In a twist of irony Etta smiled as Peter felt her final heartbeat, the last breath she would take exhaled. "I know." _

_Silent, bewildered and helpless Peter took the body of his daughter into his chest crying and whispering her name over and over, willing her back. Behind him Walter sobbed and Olivia turned stone like, her eyes fixated on the tiny brazen, blood covered bullet she held in her hands. There was nothing that would bring their daughter back. _

_All they could do was watch her fade away. _

_Just like before. _

**XXXXX**

Astrid had done this procedure hundreds of times before with Walter. Connecting the electrodes she made a Rorschach of sorts as she pushed the delicate metal endings into Peter's moist skin. One line tracked down the center of his forehead and landed on the crest of his nose. The other traced tiny golden dots across his hairline and down to his left ear. Three more electrodes stuck on his chest, and six more on his torso completing the outline for a twelve-lead EKG simultaneously. An IV sat in his left forearm as Olivia spiked a bag of saline and hung it, Astrid expertly connecting the port and moving the clamp to let the fluid run slow and steady.

"Astrid," Olivia choked fearfully, "What's happening to him?"

Astrid, whose cheeks also were soaked with panicked tears, shook her head. "I-I don't know, Olivia, but we'll run some tests. I've got his blood work already in the computer for analysis. When we're done here I'll take a look at the brainwaves and EKG and compare them to the ones we took when you started having similar experiences. You weren't this bad, though."

The monitor before them sounded beeping once as a spike in Peter's unconscious mind rose, his body twitching and stiffening in the stretcher again. In the next beat of his heart Olivia was at his side, her hand clutched between his as she let her free fingers run through the thicket of hair on his head. Astrid watched as she bent over and whispered something into his ear; Olivia's eyes squeezed shut as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

Across the room, hidden behind an old wooden door, sat Etta curled in a corner and her knees pressed into her chest. Tears matted the pink shorts she wore, her eyes swelled with fear and confusion as she rocked slowly. It was the second time she had done or said something to her father that caused him to collapse suddenly. First it was her trying to wake him for lunch. That caused him to get sick. Next it was dropping her water bottle to the ground out of excitement. Had she known this was going to happen she would have never dropped her belongings.

Had she been the cause for her father's illness? She never meant any harm. Truly she loved him.

_It was an accident_, she cried to herself, _I'm sorry, Daddy. It was just an accident._

**XXXXX**

"_I wasn't truthful with you. I do know what that is." Walter whispered next to him, his watery gaze still fixated on the television. He could sense the tension in his son's stance, the trembling of his bottom lip, and the salty tears he held back. "It's an inoculation for time travel. I'm taking the child observer into the future, Peter. I was already inoculated in 2015. I left this one in case something happened to me and one of us had to bring the boy across to complete the plan." _

_Peter's silence was enough of a confirmation of understanding. His head swam with possibilities he didn't want to imagine. His heart went numb and his mind disappeared, as if by some magic he was still standing and breathing, he finally spoke, quiet and smooth. "Does it have to be this way?"_

"_Yes!" Walter exclaimed, crying as he did so. _

_There was only one thing Peter wanted to know: "Why?"_

_Slowly Walter turned, breathing unevenly. "Because, Peter, the boy and I will become a paradox. Nature abhors a paradox. It has to heal itself. It does so by deleting me and the boy at the moment of the invasion. The boy and I will disappear in 2015." _

_His hands trembled. "So," he huffed, this throat turning to sand paper, "In order to maintain a future without the Observers, you and Michael have to live out the rest of your lives in the future." _

_Walter gave him a single nod, his wide, doe-eyes glistening in the low light. He spoke not with fear, but with conviction, with certainty, and a glistening realization of fate. "I know in my soul this is what I'm supposed to do. I want you to give Olivia your daughter back. I want to give you your life back. As a father how could I not do that for you?" _

_Peter stood silent, fighting back the thought of losing his father all over again. _

"_What I said in the tape about stealing time with you I meant it. I wouldn't trade it for the world." _

_In the blink of an eye Peter embraced his father, clutching the broken man before him in his arms, memorizing once again each curve of his back, and the way his hair whispered across his cheeks. Hot tears streaked down Walter's eyes and fell into Peter's skin, burning the memory of his father into his soul. "You are my favorite thing, Peter." _

Another joust shuttered through his body as Peter inhaled deeply, holding Olivia's hand tightly as he exhaled, _"My very favorite thing." _

"Peter," Olivia ran a cool cloth over his forehead her face carved with worry as he came to. At first he seemed distant, but quickly she watched his pupils constrict and his focus become attentive and narrowing, "You're alright." It seemed more of a statement than a question, she thought.

He nodded, groggy, "I know what happened, Liv, to Walter. I know. I remember. I remember everything." Sitting up faster than he should have Peter fell backward, pressing his palm against the throbbing bulge behind his eyes. His vision became fuzzy as he blinked, the room spinning slightly off kilter. "Now I know what you felt like when your brain was scrambled and reassembled."

A small smile came to Olivia's lips. He _was _going to be fine, she knew, and allowed her shoulders to drop the tension she carried. "Relax. When you're up for it we'll head home."

_Home_. Peter's eyes widened as the heart monitor jumped.

_Henrietta. _

"Where is she, Liv?" He said as he sat up again, this time ignoring his growing headache. "Please," he pleaded, swinging his legs over the side. "I need to see her."

As usual she pushed him backward gently, "I'll get her."

He hesitated slightly before following her request, pulling his legs back up and reclined while begging for the room to stop spinning. Peter wasn't always a good student when it came to following direction. But there was a commanding tone Olivia spoke with, and a very familiar one at that, that made him obey and sit back to let his vision settle.

Walking up the small incline and through her office door Olivia peered against the dark walls before she found a small figure hunched in a corner, the tiniest of sobs caused Etta's shoulders to bounce up and down, a roller coaster of emotions charging through her. At the click of her mother's footsteps she raised her head; her cheeks were a bashful red, a shade that was slightly lighter than her eyes, which had their own degree of puffiness around them.

"I'm sorry, Mama," she whispered fearfully into her tear-soaked arms. "Don't be mad at me, I'm sorry!"

Olivia pouted. "For what?"

Etta sobbed quickly. "Daddy got sick after I threw my bag down. You always say don't do that and that's what I did and I made Daddy sick!" She hiccuped, "I'm-I'm-"

At the sound of her daughter's cry Olivia's heart broke a little more. It always pained her to see her upset. Seeing how Etta believed she caused Peter to faint was enough to break Olivia further. Falling to her knees she pulled Etta into her arms and rubbed small, soothing circles on her back, kissing her fears away. "You had nothing to do with this, honey, there's no need to apologize. You didn't do anything to make Daddy sick. In fact I think you made him better."

"I did?" she muttered, her words soggy against her mother's shoulders.

Olivia nodded. "You did. The first thing he did when he woke up was ask for you, baby girl." Standing she settled Etta's tiny body on her hips. Together they walked out back into the heart of the lab to find Peter sitting up as Astrid checked his vitals, equal relief glowed on her face.

As mother and daughter walked closer to where Peter sat Etta turned towards him, bashful and shy as they made eye contact. The girl hesitated for a brief moment before falling into Peter's open arms, looping her elbows around the corner of his ears and her ankles intertwining behind his back. Rivers formed in the stubble of his cheeks as he pressed her harder against his chest; feeling the strength of her heart beat, the expansion of her chest as she inhaled, and the power in her tiny eyes. Here, in his arms, she was _alive_. She was alive and breathing and real. She smelled of Coppertone, watermelon shampoo and peanut butter. Her tiny fists clasped firmly behind his neck and gripped the cotton of his collar. He could hear her nails as it scratched the fabric, digging deeper into his soul.

Walter had succeeded, Peter finally understood, in everything he had promised. Walter had stopped the invasion. He prevented the collapse of Peter's marriage; Olivia was standing before him, a sparkling silver band wrapped securely around her finger. Nina- oh God, even _Nina_ was alive. But Etta, his beautiful baby girl, was young and vibrant and full of life. Last year she should have been taken, pulled away from her family and plunged helplessly into a world that was dark and cruel, ruled by a group of people who were far from humane. In a not so distant life Etta was once lost, alone, and unintentionally abandoned. But Walter had saved her. He saved Olivia from years of heartbreak and self-loathing. He saved Peter from a life without his wife and child. He had given Peter _his_ family back.

A distant voice echo suddenly through his subconscious. _It must be difficult being a father._

_No,_ Peter knew. The difficult part wasn't _being_ a father. It wasn't the necessity to stay brave in the face of danger or uncertainly; it was perfectly fitting to be scared. The difficult part was finding the strength to move on to ensure a safe future for your wife and children and for humanity. It was to give your family everything they deserved even at great personal sacrifice.

For Peter, Walter had done just that.

"Etta," he whispered into the crevice of her small neck, his words dripping with a salty-sweet embellishment, "If anything happens in the future I just want you to know something." His eyes turned a deeper blue than Olivia could remember, as he shifted his gaze to where she stood quietly, her eyes puffy and glistened beautifully. Never breaking contact from Olivia's eyes he spoke to the both of them. "You are my favorite thing, baby girl. My _very_ favorite thing."

* * *

_New York City  
2001_

The city streets were just as September imagined them to be.

Citizens and civilians packed into the sidewalks, brushing past one another in a silent and swift beat. Couples held hands as they passed many street performers. The bright Coca-Cola sign in Times Square doused the street in a brilliant, hot red that melted with the warm summer streets. He could smell the hot dogs and pretzels as he walked, stopping numerous times to sample the food of this time period. Dr. Bishop would always joke the hot dogs tasted better right before the food cart workers changed the water a monthly basis. Bicycles glided past him as the ever-present honking and cursing of drivers were exchanged every few seconds.

He had read about this famed city in the hundreds, if not thousands of books and news articles that he and the Doctors studied over the past two years. Walking across a cross walk he turned and made his way through Central Park, down a tall row of skyscrapers and around dozens of fruit stands before he stood in the famous Rockefeller Center. In a few months this place would be crawling with families as they strapped ice skates to their feet and children running into the Lego store to ogle at the gigantic built dragon that snaked through the store's levels. Cheers of '_Merry Christmas!'_ and greetings of a friendly nature would be exchanged during the holiday season.

He had heard that New Yorkers weren't the friendliest of people; he had witnessed that when a taxi cab nearly ran him off the road despite the right of way on his part. But still there was something about this time period that had called to him. From the moment he stepped through the beta-tested portal and into the thicket of trees that lined Central Park, September had fallen for this time period. The people, the personalities, even the food he secretly admitted had settled deep within his heart as his favorite time period.

If he could ever choose a time to live in this would be it.

He had explored hundreds of cities in the early twenty-first century but this was his favorite; Melbourne, Australia was a close runner-up but there was something about this city that felt _alive._ It had a pulse, it had a tempo, and there was a song about it that made his heart dance. The amateur bands on the corners competed heavily against that fabulous Chinese violinist in the subway near downtown. It was the way the Italians would greet him in the butcher shop or the way the bell hops at the large hotels would go out of their way to help someone in need.

_Don't get too attached,_ came Dr. Vega's warning, _There are events in the past that need to be witnessed and recorded. You will be sent back one hour from the time of the event. Your mission is to record. Do not interact. Do not attempt to stop what you see; any attempt to do so could result in disaster. You are an observer and nothing more. _

September felt his heart break slightly as he glanced down at his watch: _8:43am_

Inhaling deeply he settled on a high knoll in Central Park and removed a leather-bound notebook from his pocket, clicking a pen in his hand and waited. Three minutes, he counted. Two minutes.

Above him the sound of a turbine screamed into the air, the streaks from the plane's sudden turn cut white lacerations into the clear blue sky above him. It caused his heart to beat faster, harder, and his throat turn to sand.

One minute.

Opening to a fresh page he placed the book on his crossed legs and jotted the date at the top of the page.

_September 11, 2001  
8:45am_

An explosion in the distance caught his attention as he again looked at his watch and adjusted the time on the page: _8:46am_

With a heavy heart he watched as the North tower exploded in a flash of red fire and black smoke, the scream of thousands of terrified New Yorkers and New Jerseyans filled the air around him. He could smell the burning metal, he could taste crude jet fuel on his tongue. The very sight he witnessed forever burned into his memory as he watched in disbelief. After a few minutes he paused, unable to find the words to describe the horror he had witnessed. The next great American Revolution was taking place right before his very eyes, and yet he felt equally responsible for being the only person alive to know what was happening. From this would stem tighter security for America, a greater respect for those who sacrificed everything for their fellow man, and a bond that would forever change the States that called this nation home.

Tears flowed from his eyes as he described the site before him, tears dotting the end of the only sentence he could write: _"It has begun." _

* * *

_On twitter? Follow me for updates and teases- LifeSaver2621. Chapter 7 coming soon!_


	7. When Hearts Collide

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for your favorites, reviews, follows, etc! Makes me think I'm doing something right here! =] For that, I present you with chapter 7!

I'm not going to rate this chapter a solid rated M, more like a high T.

Reviews always appreciated! Enjoy ch 7!

* * *

**When Hearts Collide**

It is said inspiration can strike at any moment.

For the starving artist it may be when they pass through a foreground of luminous possibilities. In the hue of an autumn afternoon the rainbow seems to explode, dripping with pastels of infinite potential. Perhaps it's the way the sun touches the horizon during the summer exalter. The artist may get the sudden urge to draw with oils, marking the waves in the ocean or use chalk to color the gritty smile of the moon that looked down at a sleeping Earth. Perhaps inspiration is found in a flower garden or the elderly who rely on the pigeons for company on the warmest of summer days.

The same can be said for the musician. Honking of car horns or the jovial reverberation of a child's laugh can bring about a rhythm that begs to be discovered. The howl of a faithful dog and the whiz of sloppy, chewed Frisbee as his loyal companion tosses it effortlessly into the wind can write the final coda to a song. A dancer may see potential in the way leaves twisted and turned in a winter breeze. The writers and philosophers, the daydreamers and the explorers all have their moments where the world seems perfect despite the deformities and brings about a spark to the mind that cannot be ignored. Even the lovers have found this well-kept secret: that inspiration is everlasting.

_Especially_ the lovers.

Peter Bishop, the man of many endorsements, was no stranger to inspiration. He had been many identities in the past but being a lover was not one of them.

That was until he met Olivia Dunham. The woman he hated to admit he enjoyed working with had soon become the object of his affections and his secret obsession. She was the rhythm to his heart, the brush to his canvas, the conductor to his orchestra, any other metaphor he could think of she fit.

Soon _she _had become _his_ inspiration.

It was the way she whispered his name into his ear, her tongue dripping of sweet honey as his fingers danced across her jaw to cup her face. It was the soft sting of her nails that dug deliciously into the bare skin of his chest as he moved tenderly against her. Peter knew this to be true the moment the back of Olivia's knees hit the side of their mattress and her body tumbling gracefully away from his. She landed with a soft bounce and a shadowed, lustful smile on her lips. As quickly as she left his arms he was with her again inching their way up towards the plush pillows. Removing every single piece of clothing he could grab in one handful, he worked quickly to undress them both; a sinful jealously slowly arose for the fabric. It was closer to her skin than he was.

Peter smiled against her shoulder. _That _was one problem that was quickly solved and not soon enough.

Hurried hands met patient kisses and heated hearts as he took his place above her once again. He could _feel_ her body wriggle with delight as he kissed her over and over and over, relearning _everything _that made her soul catch fire- the shiver he induced when he ran his fingers through her hair, or the slight tremble that made waves across her skin as he kissed her, touched her… _loved _her. Olivia didn't have to utter a word; Peter could read her body just as easily, brail to the lovesick and those blinded by passion. Goosebumps rose over her skin, like Morse code under the pads of his fingers as he parted her legs slightly and nestled his hips just below hers.

Peter was the artist. The philosopher. He was the thinker and the believer. But tonight Peter was the musician, the conductor of a masterful orchestra that sung sweet melodies into the night. His lips the ink and Olivia's pulse the tempo, the pitch of their voices gave justice to the time signature and her body the waiting parchment. Tonight he was going to write symphonies, ballads, even arias that crossed every aspect of time and space.

Setting the mood was the rain that tinned on the roof above them. Night settled below the groaning black clouds as the light drum of thunder beat in the distance, rolling in time with the bounding of their own hearts. Letting his lips trail down her neck he handled her like a delicate violin. Haunting and beautiful at the same time, Peter knew how to play her. The higher one pressed on the neck the lower the notes, evident by the gentle, almost treble-like groan that escaped past her throat as he pressed in mouth into her skin. Each note was unique in pitch and tone. Every sound he coaxed out of her was perfectly tuned.

The lower he went the quicker his symphony began. His tempo, slow and teasing, increased in a crescendo of accidental accents, sharp intakes as her muscles tensed and her stomach arched against his chest. Letting his lips trail down between the valley of her breasts he smiled as she breathed his name, quick and staggering. Over the sudden crest in her chest, over the rapid rise and fall of her ribs he moved until he found her naval and moved _further_, drawing a coda with his tongue over her heated skin to follow when their opera was near completion. He let the tips of his teeth move over the rise of her hips, teasing her as a trill formed from the low groans she made to soft, quick high scaled moans that vibrated through him.

By the time the next growl of thunder struck outside Peter had begun the next movement of his masterpiece. Both their bodies barren and bare, he reached backward for the light sheet and draped it over his hips as his eyes finally reconnected with hers. What he witnessed was something he had not seen in Olivia's face in years. It was the way her cheeks flushed with an unexpected shyness, the small dots of moisture that formed along her light brows, and the glistening emerald pools he found that settled in her gaze that made his heart almost burst right then and there. For a moment he paused, frozen above her as he stared in wonder at the jewel of his desire.

It was that moment of vulnerability he saw sparkling in her eyes. On rare occasions she would allow Peter to see her this way. Bashful. Open. Silent. Ample. Loose. It was the raw, intense emotion he saw once in a blue moon when Olivia would let down her armor and open her soul to him. It was here he could see what made her tick, what caused her fierceness, and the deep roots of her heart. She reserved her most special of smiles for him and _only_ him. Tonight, Peter could see, Olivia Dunham was beaming.

It was moment like these where Peter fell in love with her all over again.

The corner of his mouth tugged into a small smile as he kissed her again letting his lips linger for just a moment longer before pulling her hips into his. Allowing her left knee to clamp his thigh and lock him against her, Olivia's toes pressed into his calf while Peter paused for that momentary adjustment. No sooner did the peak of his piece begin the grand mezzo forte to his symphony. Fast then slow… slow then pleasantly fast he moved against her, pants coming out like staccatos, emphasizing every beautiful sound they made. Pressing his forehead against hers he watched her face turn, her eyes close half way and her bottom lip disappear between her teeth. Short quick gasps replaced the long, languid ones she released only moments ago.

"_Jesus, Peter,_" Olivia moaned, a hint of surprise peaked as she breathing his name, drawing it past her lips as if it were water, life-staining and pure. Throwing her head back she released her iron grip on his shoulder to grasp the hand that he used to pin her other leg to his hip.

Another rumble of thunder echoed outside the sound proof walls of Peter's studio as they continued to compose his masterpiece. Or maybe it was the sound of their hearts colliding, Peter was too far gone to try to decipher which was which. All he knew was at that very moment they began their passionate decent into intimacy was that he never wanted to be more than twenty feet from his Olivia, not ever again. He had seen what the divide between them would bring.

Peter could have stayed there forever listening to the way she said his name, the way she pulled his body closer when he tried to adjust, and the way she unexpectedly laughed when she tried to fight for dominance but he easily rebutted. This was _his _music, _he_ was the composer; they were going to finish it his way. The grand finale began to crescendo, he could feel. Her body trembled more, her toes pressed into his calves and her body tensed around him. One final adjustment of his body against hers was enough to send them both past the coda he had written on her skin.

White stars exploded behind Olivia's eyes as she felt him steady for a split second before she came undone beneath him and pulled Peter over the edge with her. Swallowing every exacerbated moan and sigh she made Peter kissed her again, drinking in everything that was his Olivia- his wife, his lover, his songs duet. With the final crescendo beginning to fade away Peter felt her tense body relax underneath his, her arms fall away from his shoulders lifelessly as he caught his breath, smiling like a fool as he gazed down at her in the glory that made Olivia, well… _Olivia._

Another round of goose bumps scattered across Olivia's skin as she breathed, her heart pounding out of her chest as Peter fell towards her left side. Linking his legs between hers he watched a shy smile spread across her lips as he propped himself up onto one elbow and reached behind her. Gingerly he pressed his hand into her lower back bringing Olivia's limp body into his chest. There were no words that could describe what had transpired between them but the glowing look of satisfaction on Olivia's face was enough of a confirmation to Peter it was his best performance yet. Blissful and shining with peace, Peter watched as Olivia fell asleep in his arms, a glowing smile on her cheeks.

There was something beautiful about the way they made love.

Like fingerprints or snowflakes, two were _never_ the same.

**XXXXX**

"_In other morning news the FBI have reopened a missing person's case dating back to last summer. With new information about the case being found authorities have released the sketch of a man who may hold information related to this case."_ Olivia's drawing flashed across the TV screen on the morning news as she stood by the stove, a spatula in one hand and coffee in the other. _"The FBI reports this man is neither a criminal nor is he dangerous, we are told, but rather an expert in mechanics that may be of use. If you see or know this man, please contact the FBI's hotline or your local police department." _

"Banana nut pancakes?" Peter sniffed, leaning coolly against the wall, "You hardly make those anymore."

Trying to hide a shy smile, Olivia turned away from him. "I had some extra time this morning so I figured I'd make something different. Our daughter can't _always_ start her morning hyped on chocolate chips." She could feel his eyes on her the moment she turned her attention back to the white, puffy disks on the skillet. She could _see_ the smirk he carried and the smug way he crossed his arms across his chest, as if to carry a secret only he possessed. "You can wipe that look off your face, Peter, and stop staring at me like some hungry animal."

"What look?" Peter knew she couldn't stop smiling. He could see the tug on her cheek as she tried to purposely avoid his gaze and he knew why. Olivia was never one to allow herself to lose control. He discovered that the first night they slept together. He remembered the shy, bashful expression when she awoke next to him that first morning. The look on her face she held now, a deep, hollow smile carved her jaw and there was a hint of pink on her cheeks; it was the same expression she wore their first night together. There weren't many things Olivia Dunham could be embarrassed over.

The morning after they made love, however, was _definitely _one of them.

Olivia bit her bottom lip as Peter's arms circled around her waist, his fingers outlining the buttons of the silky green shirt she wore. "The fact you get adorably shy after we have sex is something that I can't resist. You don't stop grinning like a school girl for days. I like it."

Her smile thickened. "Well after last night's escapades I think days are an understatement. If you can't find a way to top _that_ performance we may need to divorce."

Peter laughed against her neck, inhaling the vanilla perfume she wore. "I'll keep that in mind." Resting his chin on her shoulder he returned her smile, kissing her once again. "I heard Broyles finally approved your media announcement," he released her from his embrace; "Maybe this will give us the boost we need."

She let her head bob once as she summoned her daughter who sat happily in the living room. "We'll see. Pour Etta's juice, will you?"

Peter nodded as he headed towards the fridge and paused, watching the light illuminate Etta's face. Today's adventure was recovering the Golden Lion statue that Swiper hid. Even before the end of the episode Peter could hear Etta shouting out to where it was. Following the clues was never that simple, Peter mused. A few seconds later the mystery was solved and as predicted, his daughter had already guessed where the relic was hidden. Etta would make a great detective some day.

With a gray blip the TV turned off as Etta crawled into her chair rejoicing to see her mother's banana pancakes and the rare treat- thin strips of sizzling bacon. Small droplets of syrup scattered her place as Etta made a lopsided smiley face on her breakfast and giggled, commenting how the bacon looked like Peter's hair and the molasses eyes shined like Olivia's. He watched as Olivia retrieved a can of whipped cream and laughed, spraying the bottom of Etta's pancake. He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment that the cream was Peter's stubble.

Confirming his wife was in _very _rare form Peter waited for Olivia to the stove returned before Peter raised a finger to his lips and sprayed a line on his finger. Sneaking up behind Olivia he dabbed a spot on her nose as she turned around and pouted, causing Etta to bellow in laughter and nearly fall off her chair. Wiping the cream from her face she smiled at Peter as she placed the small drop on his lips.

"Kiss mommy!" Etta giggled happily, and Peter obliged capturing her bottom lip between his and let her tongue lick the sweet treat from his lip.

"Happy now your highness?" Olivia teased, placing the remaining pancakes on a plate as Etta nodded, drinking her juice.

As Peter poured himself a cup of coffee he watched as Olivia and Etta ate, making jokes and giggling back and forth at one another. It was easy to pretend the world outside wasn't harsh and cruel, that it was just as innocent and pure as Etta imagined it to be. They had made it a personal mission the moment she was born to try and hide the gruesome and grotesque things they had seen. Olivia refused to let work come home with them, to show Etta her parents were just like any other families.

Other fathers, however, didn't have visions of their daughter dying in their arms twenty years later. That revelation he would never tell Olivia. Morally he couldn't. He didn't want her to be stuck with the burden of knowing that in another future she had lost their daughter. Twice she was struck from them, putting Olivia in a darker place than she could ever know. She once lost Peter twice, and he wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to know the same happened with their daughter.

Perhaps someday they would rid the world of evil and injustice. For just a moment Peter believed the world outside their secure walls was like the sight he witnessed this morning: perfect, pure and unbreakable.

* * *

_Harvard Lab_

There were many things the FBI did not include in their training requirements.

Sure, Astrid was licensed to carry an off duty weapon. She was required to report to the gun range every two months to keep up her skills. Truth be told she was a _much_ better shot than she gave herself credit for. That was evident the day her and Olivia went to the range two years ago and compared their charts. There were a few shots her senior agent hadn't been able to hit that Astrid literally _blew _her away. She was trained in numerous counter-terror and analysis techniques. Astrid considered herself to be quite inept when it came to languages and computers- _especially_ computers. There were many interrogation techniques she picked up over the years that had come in handy.

Reading brain scans, analyzing blood work and interpreting medical data was certainly not in her pay grade.

Sitting at the table in her office she leaned across the aging wood and sipped her coffee. With a red pen in one hand and a spread of brain waves to her left she peered between one and the other, comparing spikes and squiggles to one another in search of anomalies. One was a normal brain activity scan, one was Olivia's from five years ago, and the most recent addition the report from Peter's examination while he was unconscious the day before.

Glancing at Olivia's previous test Astrid smiled widely. Every few grid lines there would be words, slanted in a different penmanship that she had not seen in over a year. _'This here is the alpha wave designation,'_ Walter's voice echoed in her mind, _'Normally this designates relaxation, perplexion, and inhibition control. Pathologically it represents someone in a coma. The next one is the beta waves. This wave is my favorite. When Belly and I were doing experimentation with different drugs back in the seventies we would hook each other up to an EEG machine while ingesting large quantities of LSD and rattle each other's brains, if it were. Benzodiazepines often spiked my beta waves… probably the reason I am so fond of them.'_

Remembering Walter's lesson Astrid compared each line side by side, circling random spikes and cancelling out outliers that happened because of movement or false artifact. Looking at one alpha wave to another, there was no significant different between the control EEG, Olivia's or Peter's. Had Astrid not known any better she'd say there was _no_ different between the two. As she continued her analysis, moving down to a different section of the brain something else caught her eye.

Curiosity spiked and she stood, marching over to the filing cabinet in Walter's old office where he kept all of his favorite brain scans. Muddling from cabinet to cabinet she worked calmly to try and find the document she was looking for. It's wasn't long until she succeeded, pulling out a strip of paper and traced the rapid lines with her finger. The document she held in her hand's wasn't just similar to Peter's scan.

They were _identical_.

"Oh my," she muttered to herself as her pupils dilated in realization. In a flash her cell phone was to her ear. "Olivia?" She asked when her senior Agent answered, "I think you and Peter need to come in. I may have found something…"

**XXXXX**

"Peter's theta waves are remarkably active," Astrid said as she laid the strips out in front of them. "At first I compared Peter's EEG to the control Walter would take every few years, and it seemed normal. I even dug up the scan we did of Olivia when she began to remember the other timeline, and still there was nothing to dictate there was anything abnormal. Both the alpha and beta waves were within normal limits." Reaching behind her she grabbed the document she found and held it for comparison, "That's when I remembered a similar case we worked a few months ago," she turned to Olivia, "Emily Mallum? She was the one who had visions of those people dying."

Peter nodded. "Right, the girl who prevented that attack at the courthouse back in twenty-twelve."

"Well then take a look at these. Peter's theta waves match hers, had I not known any better I would say they were identical, line for line."

Olivia's eyes narrowed, processing the information. "So you're saying what happened to her could be happening to Peter? That the dreams and visions he's been having-"

"May not be dreams at all. Peter said he regained _memories_, not dreams, just like you did. The difference here, Olivia, is that you remembered the past. Peter's remembering a different _future_." Astrid turned towards her. "Walter once theorized traumatic events seem to ripple back in time. Unlike Emily, who may have had precognitive abilities and this I have no explanation for, unfortunately."

"Whatever is happening to Peter, perhaps it's not _just _a coincidence," stated Olivia, her sentence trailing off something important.

Peter turned to her quickly, his brows wrinkled. "What are you saying, Olivia?"

"Perhaps it's a warning, Peter," she said strongly, her jaw set tightly. "I know you want to find your father but what if these visions you've been having are meant to be an example of finding Walter, of pulling him from whatever time period he's in? The timeline has already been messed with once and look what happened. We almost lost you. Walter said him disappearing would create a paradox that would fix the timeline. Maybe this is a sign to let it settle."

He stood straight and tall as dark, angry shadow blackened beneath his eyes. "So what, you're just going to let him rot in some unknown era until the end of time?" Mimicking his stance Olivia's senses went on alert. "That you're going to give up hope of seeing him again? He's my _father_, Olivia; I can't give up on him."

"I'm not saying give up;" she responded quickly, "What I'm saying is that maybe trying to find him and bring Walter home may do more damage than good. You mentioned about an invasion and that he and this _boy_ were important in preventing it. You mentioned the woman you saw die but never said _who_ she was and why she was important. If we bring him home, Peter, we may undo _everything_ that Walter's done to fix the timeline."

Peter stomped away from her and turned sharply on his heels, fire raging from his eyes, "Really, Olivia? You encouraged me to start this whole project and now you're telling me it's a bad idea? After you sat there and told me you'd help find Walter, that you would, what were your words? Be there every step of the way, and now you're saying stop?"

Olivia could feel her blood begin to boil. "That was until you told me the visions you had been having, of a dystopian future, and that Walter had a key role in preventing it. Peter if we can even _find_ Walter and bring him home look at the consequences! This invasion you speak of may happen after all and we lose _everything_ Walter worked to prevent!" He threw his hands up in aggravation.

"We already _lost_ Walter!" he shouted angrily. "Isn't that enough? I've already lost one person I care about in my life, Olivia, what's more important than finding Walter?"

"Our _daughter_, Peter," Olivia gritted her teeth, trying to keep her cool.

He turned his back defiantly. "Etta is fine, Olivia."

"No, Peter, Etta is _not _fine!" She howled, her temper getting the better of her. "Because if we find Walter we lose her all over again!"

Peter froze where he stood, shock settling in with realization. She didn't have to say anything further, Peter could read the lines that settled deep within her cheeks.

Hot tears welled in her eyes, "You're not the only one who remembers, Peter," her voice dropped to a cracked whisper. "Clear as day, I remember the invasions. All I see when I close my eyes at night is the blood pouring from her chest the day she was shot by Windmark. I feel her body shake and shiver and tremble as she sits dying beneath my hands. I _smell_ the blood, _taste _the tears. I _feel_ the glass beneath my knees. When I wake up my hands still stick like there's blood. I have to walk into her room and feel her pulse to reassure myself this isn't just a sick dream."

Instantly his heart dropped from his chest, a stone sinking beneath the ocean waves into a crushing dark.

"You remember," he muttered. It came out more of a statement than a question.

"I remember," Olivia's quivering voice confirmed, low and dark, "I remember _everything._ I can't lose her again, Peter. I don't think I'd be strong enough to go through that again and with this whole escapade, I'm afraid I'm losing you too. So please, for the sake of our daughter, of our _family_, let this go." Walking towards him she swallowed her tears and her pride, gripping his shoulders gently, "Let Walter go."

Peter kept her gaze just a moment longer before removing himself from her hands and silently walked out of the lab, never looking back as the doors closed behind him.

Olivia let her stiff shoulders drop, defeated as she regained her composure, glancing over towards where Astrid sat silently. "I'm so sorry you had to witness that, Astrid, really I am. I just got-" she trailed off. "I can't lose him, and every day we continue this I'm afraid I am."

"Then why did Broyles approve the media announcement?" Astrid asked quietly as Olivia placed both hands on the table, gripping the earth in any hope to not lift away.

She pressed her lips together tightly, "Because Peter was so dead set that Sam Weiss was still alive, that he was the connection to this whole matter. If no one came forward with any information I had hopes it would ease him off this whole thing."

"Wait, _still _alive?" Astrid questioned curiously. "Have they identified the body officially?"

Olivia nodded. "I didn't want to tell him. Sam Weiss was the John Doe found dead of a gunshot wound four years ago. I read the case notes, Astrid, and the gun used was unlike anything they had seen. I knew the wound the moment I saw it. It wasn't just an ordinary glock." She paused, "I think Sam Weiss was killed by an Observer. Surveillance cameras outside his home in Maine spotted a man dressed in a black suit and a fedora, and fired a gun straight between Sam's eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground. The Observer turned around and we got a full faced image of him."

Astrid glanced behind her, "And those leads you asked me to follow-up on, I think you're right." Opening a drawer below her Astrid pulled out a manila envelope with the very case Olivia was referring to. "I remembered his name; too, the Observer who we think killed Sam. He was Windmark's right hand man. His name was Royce."

"I was afraid of this, Astrid," Olivia muttered, "I didn't want to tell him like this, though."

"You know how Peter gets," she tried to comfort Olivia; "He just needs time for it to sink in."

Olivia sighed, "I'm afraid time is what we're running out of."

At that revelation Astrid's heart sunk a little deeper. Seeing the tremble in Olivia's bottom lip she rubbed Olivia's tense shoulder and drew her into a hug. Astrid knew Olivia's fears that Peter would sink into a delusion so deep he would be impossible to rescue. Peter always said he didn't want to end up like Walter- crazed, obsessed and impulsive with just one fascination that would be impossible to break. Unfortunately, the harder Peter tried to avoid that fate, the closer the line he walked into becoming the very person he refused to turn into.

The expression of, _when it rains, it pours_ was a great understatement of the predicament they found themselves in. It was a catch-twenty two: damned if you do, damned if you don't. If they found Walter and removed him from… _wherever_ he is the timeline would revert. If they didn't they would have Etta, the future would be secure, but Peter would never see his father again, and the consequences of that could lead to Olivia losing him all over again.

Hearts truly were the most fragile of glass, a delicate scale that needed balance. Should that equilibrium shift a heart could fall it broke instantly opening a cracked, spidered window to the soul. Each broken pane was impossible to fix. The moment it mended would be the instant it shattered back into pieces and into a thousand shards more. Wars had been fought over love and the right thing to do; the collide from dueling hearts was a never-ending battle. Emotional bombs explode sending harmful bullet-driven words into one another that could cut deeper than any knife and scar worse than any wound.

Sharp and broken, remains of the shattered hearts would be forever imbedded into the soul like shrapnel… painful, permanent and everlasting.

* * *

_Chapter 8 coming soon!_

_On a completely separate side note: For those of you in the USA who have heard about the recent bombings in MA during the Boston Marathon, I ask you keep my fellow first responders in your thoughts and the victims in your prayers. I've been on the job 8 years as an EMT and have had my fair share of bad calls, but thankfully never had to witness things like that, but between the Newton elementary school shootings and it takes a mental toll on us all in the field. Tell your responders thank you, as that's a word we don't hear too often. We need our faith in humanity back. I'm still holding out for our white tulip. Hopefully you will too.  
_


	8. In Loving Memory

**Author's Note:** My dearest readers, as Peter once said to Olivia, "I don't deserve you." I thank you all for your patience in getting this chapter up, I don't know where May went but it flew! Truly you are the absolute best fan base/readers I have ever known. Hopefully it will propel us forward and give you a few answers, while posing a few more questions. I rewrote this chapter probably fifty times and still I'm not satisfied with it. But I'll let you be the judge of that. Reviews make the world go round!

* * *

**In Loving Memory**

_Olso, Norway  
November 27, 2169_

"He's been like that for weeks, Dr. Bishop," Dr. Vega announced as they stood side by side just beyond the shadow of the door frame. Her arms sat lazily across her chest, one hand postured at the tip of her jaw in thought. "We've tried talking with him but nothing has brought him out of this… _sadness_ he's been enveloped in. He hasn't slept, he hasn't eaten," she hesitated; speculation shadowed over her eyes, "I fear we sent him back too soon."

Acknowledging her opinion Walter nodded once, his gaze set firmly on the arched back of the man who sat before them. September looked smaller than he could remember; his head dipped low against his chest and his torso sloped. Hunched and rounded, his strong shoulders hinted of weakness, his eyes musty with teary tribulation. The curled body of September reminded Walter instantly of a soldier returned from the war- a brave man who had seen the unimaginable and done the unspeakable. When he returned home he was not _just_ a man. Not anymore. He was broken, defeated, and paralyzed of faith. No one could ever return from a trauma like war, Walter mused, no matter how steadfast the soul was.

"Fear itself is what led to man's discovery of courage, Dr. Vega. Sometimes we must experience our deepest fears to find sadness, and in turn uproot where hope resides." Walter responded coolly. "Let me speak with him." Dr. Vega nodded and turned back towards the dark hallway and left Walter in silence.

Carefully Walter moved taking a vacant chair next to where September sat, for the tiniest of noises would make his body jolt and his muscles tense; his arms rested upon a glass desk, his eyes fixated on the small screen that glowed before him. Over and over he watched the footage of the attacks in two-thousand and one. Each time the planes hit his body shuttered, engines roared in his ears and the screams of thousands of reminiscent voices shattered his mind. Tears created tiny specks over the table and dried, leaving behind nothing but salt and memories. For minutes they sat in silence, stone statues complimenting one another in the dark.

Finally September spoke; his words broken, yet steady, "I do not understand, Dr. Bishop, what I am feeling. This is not the way I expected sorrow and sadness to feel. It not only affects the mind but the soul as well. I followed your instructions, Dr. Bishop, I did not intervene and still those… _people_," his swollen eyes shrunk, "All those innocent people who died, I felt…" he licked his cracked lips, "I felt…"

"Powerless," Walter assisted.

"No," September breathed, fresh tears began to fall. "I felt _responsible_. All those unnecessary deaths I could have prevented because I now know what the future holds for them. We could go back and change it." He tilted his head, "Why do humans want to hurt one another, Dr. Bishop? To take a life is a very delicate subject, and yet those madmen had no restraints, no hesitation. They just… _did _it. Men and women," he choked, "Children. Young boys and girls whose lives had just begun were suddenly stripped from existence. I just don't understand… why?"

Walter hesitated, choosing his words with precision. "Human nature is delicately balanced, September, you must understand this. Love and hate, good and evil, they are the yin and yang that drive the soul and direct the heart to places well beyond the realm of human comprehension. Sometimes they lead to dark, dark places. Some people are able to see past it. Others act on it. When hatred builds, it builds slowly, like a blocked dam. The moment it overflows there's no way to stop it. There are people out there who did not like us because of our ideals and our beliefs. Some men want the world to live in harmony. Others just want to watch it burn."

"If humans can take a life so easily, without any remorse for doing so, then what is there left to believe in? How did the people in your time overcome such a tragedy without being lost to their anger, their hatred?" He pleaded for the answer, a reaction Walter was not expecting

"Hope," was Walter's simple reply. "For thousands of years humans have relied on hope to believe in the impossible, to believe that we can create a better world. After those attacks we prevailed. We fought back to show those who hurt us that we are stronger than they anticipated. Faith, patriotism, the desire to help our fellow man was what drove us to win the war. There are plenty of things to fight for, September. Love, faith, family… we keep close the people we have, take care of the ones we love. For those we have lost we can always revisit them in our memories."

September bowed his head in thought, "Who do you fight for, Dr. Bishop?"

A face flashed through his memory as Walter pursed his lips. "My family. I lost them many years ago, sacrificing my life with them to give my granddaughter the family she deserves. I fought for the love of my son, to give him the life he always wanted. I gave up my life with them to come here, to ensure what happened back in my time _never _happens again." Slowly he smiled at September, "And I think we're coming close to preserving a good future for mankind. I know I will never see them again, but there is still a small part of me that hopes I will."

"What does hope feel like?" September asked.

"Hope is not a feeling it is a faith; to believe in the improbable and imagine the unimaginable and if we can do that than anything is possible. Please do not let the one event you witnessed make you question what you have learned. Soon you will see that with every bad comes the good. You just have to know where to look." Again they fell silent as September contemplated Walter's words. "Get some sleep, son. We have much to do tomorrow."

The man next to him nodded once and left, leaving September alone with his thoughts.

For hours September sat in his bedroom pondering the words Walter spoke. Over and over in his mind he ran their conversation; faith, sorrow, humanity and hope. Perhaps Walter was right, that one event should not dictate the future of mankind. All around him were things to fight for, to believe in. Walter for one the man who gave us his family for humanity was an admiration September could never live up to and it was a fate he accepted.

Standing slowly he walked out past his room and down the hallway to where Walter's lab was stationed. Accessing the archives he searched for a date, one Walter had mentioned many times in the past. Scanning each file he sat determined, until the document in question scrolled underneath this fingers.

Taking in a steady, calming breath he tapped the file and began to read.

* * *

_**August 31, 2015**_

_Harvard Lab_

In all of his years on this Earth Peter had only attended one funeral.

_Just _one.

To this day every time he passed the cemetery the memory came flooding back in a tidal wave of powerful and overwhelming emotions. The atmosphere was thick with humidity and heavy with a pending rain. The sky let out a groan so thunderous it shook the ground Peter stood on. Droplets congealed and stuck to the inside of his nose and dripped down the back of his throat. It was a warm, watery scent with a hint of sweetness that was almost sickening. Moisture clung to his suit and beaded on his forehead as they stood next to the freshly dug grave, the casket that held his silent mother perched on green straps as if to hover, the wooden box encasing not only her body but her spirit as well.

An outline of a rough hand pressed against the cotton of his suit, Walter's fingers rounding his shoulder as he pressed Peter's still body against his, the pressure creating a comfort between the two that neither would admit. It had rained on the way over to the cemetery and only stopped a few minutes ago, the soil beneath his feet became swollen as even the Earth cried for a victim taken tragically before her time. Rivers formed between his feet, carving microscopic caverns between him and his father. _The first of many_, Peter mused.

Everything sat remarkably still, he remembered. The wind did not breathe nor did the tall trees dance. Insects hummed quietly as Peter felt rushing water flow through his ears. A singular sound he was able to distinguish was the pulsating hum of the belts used to lower the casket. It was a strangely deceptive calming buzz, reminiscent of bees in the summer or the fast flick of a hummingbird's wings. He could feel the vibrations against his chest, pressing against the hollow stone that was his heart. Once the casket hit the bottom the humming stopped and all that remained was silence.

A clink of melting ice in his scotch glass brought Peter back out of his reverie, the sound interrupting his daydream with a rapturous thunder that boomed in his mind and made Peter making him jump in his chair. Lifting his chin off his chest he glanced around Walter's packed office where he had secluded himself for the past few hours. Now, craning his head around his surroundings Peter exhaled gently, careful not to break the airy glass around him.

It had been five weeks since Walter disappeared. Five sleepless, restless, emotionally driven weeks since his father had vanished off the face of the Earth and Peter had searched every inch of it. In the lab, in the food stores, the park, the zoo, the old house at Reiden Lake, hell even the local morgues to make sure he hadn't been tinkering with the dead bodies and testing his latest experiments. But Walter was gone with no trace left behind. Peter had not let any stone remain unturned but his efforts had become seemingly futile.

He turned gently in the chair as a small squeak erupted from the wheels, shattering the calmness around him. Walter used to love his chair. Usually when his father rambled on about it Peter only half listened as Walter described the orthopedic benefits- the fact it swiveled around was an added bonus. Perhaps the old man was right after all. It really did cater well to the spine. Stumbling to his feet he gained his balance before grasping the moist glass in his hand and exited.

In the next blink he took he found himself standing in the center of the vast basement, holding a silent breath and turned slowly where he stood. Something was missing from Walter's playground, something Peter could not put his finger on. The more he listened and focused, his hearing straining, the more confused he became. That was until Gene moved and the small bell around her neck rung did Peter find his answer.

Sound. There was not a day he could recall where there wasn't some sort of auditory stimuli being casted around the stone walls. Whether it was Walter's talking, the computers chirping or even an old record play silence was not something often heard in the lab. Until now, that is.

There was no flickering or whizzing of broken light fixtures, no swishing of papers or the scratch of a pen. Beakers did not clang nor did chemicals hiss and water bubble from their perch above a Bunsen burner. Computers sat without power and the sink remained dry. Walter's old record player sat stone silent in the corner; the vast trumpet once used to cast music now collected dust. The air remained clear, no static cracking as Walter set another record on the needle or the gears of a fax machine grind. After a few moments the stone caverns would be filled with ballads and the deep vibrato of Walter's singing.

In her corner Gene let out a low, monotonous call. It was different from her normal sound, deeper and sorrowful.

"You miss him too, don't you Gene?" Peter whispered as he patted over to where she stood her wide eyes glassy and her fur matted near her nose. Picking up the brush he pulled it across her fur in smooth, calming strokes. If Peter wasn't mistaken she looked like she had been crying. "I miss him too. It must've been harder for you to watch what happened. I'm sure you do know. If only you could tell us."

She shied away from his and hid her eyes, a sign Peter mistook for acknowledgement of what happened to her companion. Swallowing the last of his drink he placed the cup in the sink and walked slowly up the stairs. Turning on his heel he glanced backward at the lab once again as his skin shuttered. Silence was either comforting or unforgiving. It could break things apart, or heal them if the time was appropriate. It could be a band-aid or a sledgehammer. In this case, however, it was a confirmation.

The world Peter lived in would never be the same.

**XXXXX**

"Again! Again!" cheered Henrietta as she leaned over the living room table and threw her hands up in victory. Slipping the thimble-sized playing pieces back to their color-coded homes she reached across and pressed her tiny palm on the plastic bubble and pressed it against the metal plate. With Olivia's help the tiny dice inside popped, giving Etta a two. "You go, Mama."

"One more then it's bath time, Etta," Smiling at her daughter Olivia took her turn at the game, a favorite from her childhood and a present from Walter for Etta's birthday a few months ago. "My turn," she grinned and pressed the center, the dice jumped and fell to a coveted revelation. "Six!" she exclaimed and counted aloud until she reached the peg. At the completion of her second turn Etta grabbed the green piece and counted Olivia's space.

"Four!" she hollered and reached across for the bubble, popping it and rolling another six. "One, two, free," she moved the pieces faster than she could count. "Six!"

Olivia chuckled, "Six was here, honey, you were a little far ahead."

"No," she defended quickly, "Six is here! I counted!"

Shaking her head Olivia knew it was useless to argue with her three-year old. "We'll let it slide this time, but next time we play by the rules." Etta giggled in acknowledgement and they continued the game. Several pops and a few peg jumps later the game ended with Etta being the victor once again. She smiled and laughed, her tiny stomach bounding in anticipation as she hugged her mother. "Bath time," announced Olivia as she slung Etta onto her hip.

"I wannabe a mermaid like Ariel," she proclaimed as they reached the top of the stairs. Wiggling out of Olivia's embrace she hobbled towards the bathroom, stripping herself of her clothes. "I wanna sing, Mama!"

"Mermaids can only sing when they're in water," she turned the nozzle and checked the temperature, "So in we go, Ariel." Sitting on her bath chair Etta began to holler and laugh as a thin layer of bubbles began to rise from the solution. She splashed and crawled excitedly on her hands and knees, sticking her face below the water and flailing excitedly as she pretended to sing. Pouring a dab of shampoo in her hands Olivia worked the liquid through Etta's thick hair, curling and smoothing it was Etta continued to serenade her mother.

"Sing, Mama," Etta pleaded with wide eyes. "Please?"

Olivia smiled. "Another night, honey, we really need to get you into bed before your father comes home."

As they began to rinse Etta stood and faced her mother. "Where is Daddy?"

She sighed, "Working I imagine. He had a… late night. I'll read to you tonight, though."

Etta's bright smile faded. "But Daddy reads to me."

Wrapping a warm towel around her tiny body Olivia pouted. "I know but Daddy's been a little sad lately. Sometimes grown-ups need to relax by themselves."

"Gran-pa?" she asked as her eyes wide and filled with innocence.

Olivia nodded. "Mostly because of Grandpa, yes. But if I know your father as well as I do he'll come around eventually. Don't fear, baby girl. Daddy will be home soon." Toweling her hair Olivia playfully pouted, "And what, I can't read to you?"

Etta's smile returned as she pressed her tiny body into Olivia's chest. "You can. I pick!"

Dragging the towel behind her Etta ran into her bedroom and picked up her pajamas from the floor as Olivia slipped on a pair of night-time Huggies. Soon she wouldn't need them, Olivia hoped, as they were very close to being potty-trained. Climbing into her bed Etta perched two pillows up against the wall as Olivia sat beside her and opened up Etta's selection. Despite them reading Burlap Bear every night it still brought with it a magic that adults had long forgotten. Curling into the crook of her shoulder Etta snuggled up against Olivia with her stuffed dog resting between them.

Planting a kiss on Etta's forehead Olivia smiled, opened the cover and began to read.

**XXXXX**

_1:57am_.

_Never_, in all the years she had known him, was Peter ever home this late without calling her. Sitting at the kitchen table with a small glass of Jack to her left and her phone to right, Olivia eyed the clock above the microwave uneasily. Checking her phone for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes, she sighed to see no response from the text she sent him twenty-two minutes ago. No, she counted, twenty-_three_ minutes ago.

Tapping her fingers against the glass she felt jumpy, anxious to know where Peter was and why he hadn't called. Had something happened to him? _No_, she convinced herself, _they would have called. They know who he is and where he lives._ With every inch of her heart she hoped he had not gone out to a bar again; the last time Peter went out on a drinking binge she had to pull Etta out to bed to pick him up because he was too intoxicated to drive. Had she not dated the barkeeper's boyfriend all those years she was sure Peter would have been thrown out.

Exactly three minutes before she was going to grab her keys and badge the front door lock slid sideways and in stumbled Peter. Quietly he tried to close the door but ended up banging his foot against the wall instead, mumbling an obscenity Olivia could not make out. Slipping the lock to the left he kicked off his shoes and instead of dropping his keys in the bowl they fell towards the floor with a metallic _clunk_. Turning right he headed towards the kitchen and froze the moment he met Olivia's tired, worried eyes.

Shaking her head she sighed, "You were out drinking again weren't you?" It came out as a soft accusation instead of a question. He went to open his mouth but she cut him off. "Don't lie to me Peter, I could smell you the moment you walked through the door."

He pressed his lips together in search of a bourbon-tinged excuse. "I-I _wazzn't_… I jus' had a few drinks, Liv, I'm f-fine." Leaning up against the frame he crossed his chest before almost falling towards the ground.

"No, Peter, nothing about this is _fine_. You promised me you wouldn't do this," she responded, an inclination of anger began to fire behind her words. "You promised me this would stop, the drinking each night."

"I know- thi' is the las' time, I _proooomise_," he slurred, but Olivia was not convinced.

"Last Thursday was the last time, remember?" she stood calmly, "I gave you your space like you asked when Walter disappeared but you can't just expect me to sit by and pretend what you're doing isn't dangerous. Drinking the pain away is not the solution, Peter. I know it hurts but I can't let you do this anymore."

Suddenly he flushed red with anger. "So what, you're jus' gonna give up like everyone else has? You're gonna pretend Walter ne'er dis'peared and leave him somewhere to die? _I'm not_ giving up on him, 'Livia."

Pressing her hands against the counter she sighed, "I'm not giving up on him, or you, Peter but you're going about this the wrong way. I'm not fighting with you, because I know that's what you want. You're not thinking straight."

"No, what I want is to fin' my father. If you're not gonna help then lemme alone," he huffed at her as she blurred before his eyes. "You're good at running from thin's like that, you know." She bit her lip, squeezing the corners of the island until her palms ached. "Whenever somethin' happens you run. You don' wanna fight."

"I'm _not_ going to fight with you, you're drunk."

In three big steps he was face to face with her. "Come on, you're an'ry with me, I can see it in your eyes. You wanna say somethin' then say it."

She let out an even breath. "I'm worried, Peter. I don't want to see you fall down the same path Walter did when he lost you all those years ago. He became obsessed with one thing and that lead to his downfall. You're quickly following that same path. You once told me you didn't want to end up like him but Peter, you keep this up and you're going to lose us just like Walter lost you and your mother."

"I am… _nothing_ like my father," he growled slowly. Thick, hot words began to form; a thousand knives cut his tongue. Jagged and sharp they cut through Olivia's heart, deep and threatening. It was that tone in his voice that made the hair on her neck stand up to attention and her right hand reflexively reach towards her hip. "Like you know _anything_ about loss."

_That_ struck a nerve as her eyes narrowed and her teeth gritted. "You forget my mother died when I was fourteen leaving me to watch out for my sister. I had to watch her get beaten night after night by a psychopath after my father was murdered in cold blood. I had the man I love ripped away from me not once, but twice. Now I risk losing him a third time because he'd rather get drunk each night then spend the evening with our daughter, who, by the way, keeps asking for you and I need to make up some bullshit excuse as to why you're not home."

Instantly his eyes darkened in the low light, and his liqueur-laced words became unsettlingly clear. "And if you lost me I'm sure you'd easily find another guy to rebound on just like when John-"

With all her might she raised her right and slapped him hard across the face, silencing Peter immediately as his cheek began to throb and swell. "Is that what you think? I thought you were a bigger man than that, Peter Bishop. You were right apparently. You_ are_ _nothing_ like your father. He's ten times the man you are now and that will _never_ change. I'm sure if Walter could see you now he'd be nothing short of disappointed."

"Liv," he said, suddenly sobered by the realization of what he said. That was evident by the hurt in her eyes.

Standing firmly in her spot she panted heavily. "You can sleep on the couch tonight, Peter," she whispered, "And don't bother showing up for work tomorrow. You're on leave until further notice."

"You're suspending me?" He exclaimed, "You can't _suspend_ me."

She glared at him challenging Peter to utter another word. "I am your commanding Agent, Peter, which gives me any and all right to make sure you are in your right frame of mind for active duty and you're not. Clearly you came back too soon."

A hint of panic arose in his chest as his head swam. "Olivia-" No matter how hard he tried she remained silent and firm. "Olivia, I'm- I'm sorry," he pleaded quietly, but she would not acknowledge him. Instead she turned her back and continued upstairs without giving him a second glance. Their bedroom door clicked slowly behind her and silence filled the house around him again.

His heart raced in his ears as he silently cursed himself for losing control, for saying those words he could not take back. They were bullets through the heart, wounds that neither time nor apologies could heal. Everything she said was painfully true, he knew. He was wrong to place the blame on her. He was wrong to bring up her past to redirect his current state of mind, and the fact he had done his father no justice at all by his actions now. Sitting down at the vacant chair he put his head in his hands as his mind flooded with their conversation and those words he should have never said.

For the first time in weeks he began to cry, not in mourning but with regret. "I'm sorry," he muttered into his hands. His cheek burned where she had hit him, each finger length a fiery lashing that brought him crashing back to Earth. It was at that moment he caught sight of the unopened bottle of Jameson he had bought earlier that day. Standing next to the sink he took a final swig then turned it over to empty it; a quick fix to dry out the viper that had taken over his life. First step was to rid the body of the poison, and that's exactly what he had to do to heal his wounds and fix the damage he had unintentionally created.

Fifteen minutes later he carried every single empty alcohol bottle outside to the curb where the recycling bin rested. Bidding his newfound addiction a final farewell he laid the bottles to eternal rest. Back inside he grabbed Etta's Little Mermaid blanket and pillow and curled up on the couch, his vision looking past the blinds and outwards towards the moon. Even wrapped around in a blanket of crushing black velvet it shone brightly, a defying act the sky would try to suppress.

Tomorrow was going to be different, he decided. Tomorrow, _everything_ was going to chance. There was no other choice Peter could make. He was _not_ going to end up like his father. Not even by a half.

* * *

**_September 2016_**

_1:32am_

Things change when you become a parent.

Nights once spent drinking and dancing are replaced by milk and story time with a four-year old. Instead of acting fun and wild and free the idea of setting good examples for your children becomes a staple to good parenting. Be polite in public, hold the door open for the elderly and when that driver from New York, whose SUV is a fortified tank, cuts you off the idea of flipping them the bird and cursing their name for all eternity is religiously forbidden.

Instead of turning on the movie channels and watching Mark Walburg in _The Departed_, you find yourself gravitating towards the Disney Channel to watch _The Little Mermaid_ for the thousandth time, all because it's your daughter's favorite movie to date. Despite the fact she knows every world, every _line_ to the movie it's still heartwarming to see her eyes light up the moment Ariel comes on screen. It makes you remember the first time you fell in love with something so magical.

As a mother her world revolves around their daughter. Henrietta wants to wear blue for the day, so naturally Olivia chooses a darker hue to compliment her daughter's taste in attire. Their morning breakfast ritual will dictate her meals- chocolate chip pancakes means a salad with a protein, while eggs and toast may have her lean towards grabbing a slice of pizza and her favorite garlic knots for lunch. On occasion they would have a glass of white wine should Etta choose apple juice for dinner because Etta loved to be like her parents. Instead of listening to the radio Olivia will put in the Wiggles most recent CD because Etta loves to sing along with them as they drive to day care.

Always telling the truth was one of their latest lessons to teach their daughter. Much like anything else Olivia has done that whole plan seems to have viciously backfired in her face.

"_Why didn't you tell me?"_

Nursing the edge of her glass she sipped her drink slow and steady, savoring each drop. She had forgotten what her favorite whiskey tasted like. Tangy and spicy, yet smooth enough to enjoy without anything to dilute the wonderful singe it left on her tongue. Olivia sighed as she leaned back against the lounge chair and stared into the sparkling night sky searching for an answer- _any _answer would suffice.

Why hadn't she told him about that she had been having the same heart stopping, mind numbing dream over and over again. Each excuse she had come up with seemed worse than the last: she forgot, she thought it was because she was stressed. Mostly, she realized, it meant acknowledging Peter was right about something. It meant that Walter's plan had worked. It meant she had her daughter back- that she was alive and well and absolutely thriving.

Maybe it was Olivia's own stubbornness to admit something had changed. Ever since that day in the park she had always felt something was slightly off kilter. It was the way the wind blew across her face or the slight haze that seemed to shimmer over the city skyline as Etta ran into Peter's arms. Mostly she believed this was a warning to not let things to awry once again. The timeline had already shifted once for her. Perhaps this was a sign to leave it be.

Each and every reason she came up with seemed to be buried under the one fact she refused to ponder: the idea of Peter ending up exactly where he feared the most.

Obsession was a devastating disease that ran in the Bishop genes. It altered the mind, misshaped the heart and could tear the soul apart with one infectious idea that could never let go. For years it plagued Peter's father, and the moment he lost his son Walter became sick with the idea of saving Peter. He broke the rules of physics, forged his own rules of science and did something no man had ever attempted. Walter broke two universes to save Peter. The end result was irreversible damage to a world that sat just beyond their line of comprehension and the destruction of many lives along the way. It lead to a war that spanned both time and space that ultimately ended in her losing the man she had come to respect and love. Now with Walter gone and Peter in the mindset she was she risked losing him all over again.

Tracing her finger along the glass rim of her whiskey glass Olivia pressed her lips together tightly. She had been watching the chunk of ice in the amber liquid begin to melt for over an hour, an endless distraction that only made her mind keep racing. She had heard Peter come home a half hour ago and yet she still couldn't find the courage to face him. Truthfully she hated it when they argued. Both were equally as stubborn and hard-headed and unyielding towards one another. Usually it was over how to discipline Henrietta should she do something wrong or it was how much they were spending on food a month- miniscule things that would be forgotten by morning.

Over her left shoulder she could make out a hint of yellow light from their office. Whatever project Peter had been working on he kept hidden from her view, a secret that irritatingly irked her to know. Peter never kept a secret from her, not since they had started dating. Bested by her own curiosity she soon found herself standing just beyond the door frame, her body pressed against the wall and her cheek resting on the cool wood. For a few minutes she watched him, a pencil scratched against parchment paper while a wireless computer mouse sat beneath his right palm, the pointer flickering across the screen like a beacon.

They had hardly spoken in the past two weeks. Mostly it was because neither knew what to say to one another as they processed her new revelation. There was a hesitation she knew Peter could see and yet she was stubborn enough to wait for him to make the first move. The moment Peter had slipped the silver band onto her finger she warned him- she was _not_ marriage material. As much as Olivia loved having Peter in her life there were those brief moments she enjoyed her freedom, the ability to think in a quiet room or enjoy a bubble bath with the door wide open so she could hear the radio on in her living room. Still, knowing exactly what hell she had been through, he wanted to take that leap and she happily let him take the first step towards building the rest of their lives together.

Secretly she loved to watch him work; she loved fantasizing exactly what was going on in that maniacal brain of his, the wonders of the world he kept and the past lives he had lived. She could sit and watch him for hours, pouring over equations and calculations to figure out exactly how the world worked, to uncover its darkest desires and most hidden treasures. Truly he was a mystery to her, and yet she knew everything about him in the most intimate of details.

Nibbling on the inside of her cheek she hid half her face from him and tapped her fingernail against the wood careful not to disturb him. Part of her hoped he wouldn't hear her near-silent request for his attention and yet a part of her screamed for it. At the sudden stillness of his body she blushed, watching his head crane over the top of the chair and his brows scrunch in either confusion or fascination.

"Hi," she managed to breathe; shyness reddened her cheeks as she pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth. Forcing herself away from the wall she walked towards the glow of the desk lamp and knelt next to him, cradling her chin in her arms. "What are you working on?"

For a moment Peter hesitated, his voice slow and curious. "Just jotting down some ideas to figure out a way to…" he shrugged, "You know. I was thinking about something. The machine somehow functioned as a device to snap me out of our timeline. If I could make a device to fit my genetic profile maybe I can tweak it enough to fit Walter's. Since we don't the option of finding Sam anymore I was trying to think something else."

Her head bobbed once before settling down in the crevice between her arms. Silence fell between them once again, a wound spring pushed far past its limits to coil. She sighed deeply, licking her lips before biting the ultimate bullet. "Peter," her voice dropped, low and smoky, "I owe you an apology. I just… when I started having these dreams it happened a few days after yours. I didn't know what it was. At first I contributed it to stress but when you mentioned about seeing a woman get shot and the boy I panicked. I've had the same dream over and over again, and after finally seeing what could have happened it scared me. Mostly because I thought I was going to lose you in this deep obsession. Peter… I couldn't bear to watch you become disappointed again and I thought trying to protect you was the best thing for our family. I didn't-"

"Want to watch me end up like Walter," he finished her sentence as his gaze turned back to her. "I know. I've known that for the past two weeks, you didn't have to say anything. I've seen that look before, that unsettling, worrisome glow, but not just in your eyes. My mother had it for as long as I came remember. I didn't understand it until I figured out where I was from and what Walter did to save me. I just wanted to give you some space to work things out, because I know that's how your mind works. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you and I apologize. Instead of helping you process it I ran. I ran because I was scared and I shouldn't have done that. You needed me as much as I need you."

Tucking the pencil behind his ear he cupped her cheek, a tender smile on his face, "I made you a promise when we got married that I would never abandon you or our daughter and I meant it. I promised to be a better man than my father. While I admit I haven't _quite_ lived up to that but I'm working on it. You never had to worry about losing me, Olivia. No matter what happens between us I'll always find my way home to you."

The corners of her mouth tugged into a shadowed smile that she hid beneath the curve of her elbow, "If there's one thing you got from Walter, outside of his IQ, it's your way with words."

His smile thickened as he leaned closer towards her, "Well I seem to recall that's how our four-year old upstairs came into the pic-" He was silenced immediately as her arms snaked around his neck and her lips pressed against his, locking them into once another again.

She let a throaty chuckle escape past her lips, kissing him again. It was moments like these Peter knew their relationship was different from other couples. After fifteen days of minimal communication and weeks of speculation all it took was a few heart-felt words to bring Olivia's armor back down, to let him see back into her soul. A smile, a few light kisses and a tight hug later they could easily pick up where they left off, to get back into the grove that they had lost when a rift formed between them.

Before she had died Elizabeth had told Peter hundreds of stories about when she and Walter were dating; how she met him, where she fell in love with him, and the way she cried the moment he slipped the wedding band onto her finger. When he was older she expressed excitement to see him fall in love. '_When you find her, Peter, hold onto her close. Admire her for her heart and love her for her faults. No woman is whole until she finds the perfect man to make her complete. Love her, Peter, and never let go of that love.'_

To this day whenever he and Olivia fought his mother's voice popped into the back of his head. '_There's a reason many marriages today fail, Peter,'_ Elizabeth once said, _because they lose the desire to fight for it, to fix whatever has broken between them. 'If you love her, fight for her. Show her that no matter what happens you will always come back to her.'_

He sighed against her lips, "Does this mean I can come back to bed?"

Like music from the angels, Olivia's jovial laugh danced across his ears, "Of course."

Without another word Peter stood, his fingers laced like silk between hers as he reached over and shut down the computer. A buzz against the keyboard caught his attention as his phone hummed against the desk. Broyles' name blinked rapidly across the screen as Peter picked it up.

"Broyles?" he asked curiously into the speaker. "No, no, we were just about to…" Standing close to him Olivia strained her hearing, but the look on Peter's face was evident enough that something big had just come through. "When?" came his fast reply, his eyes widening as he gripped her hand tighter. She could feel his pulse excel through his fingertips "I'll call Nina in the morning and see if she can babysit… nine-twenty-seven tomorrow evening, gate thirty-two. We'll see you there."

"Peter what is it?" Olivia asked as her smile faded, concern washed over her face to see how quickly Peter had gone pale.

"A woman from Montana just called. Apparently she recognized someone who matched the sketch you put out last month," he paused as his phone signaled the download he just received. "He said she was able to catch a picture of him," Together they stood in anticipation as the photo downloaded. Opening it Olivia felt her heart drop.

"That's impossible. Forensics confirmed the man they found to be Sam, but he looks…"

"Identical," he finished. Together they studied the picture. The curve of his chin, the wave of his hair, even the beard he bore was an exact replica of the man they remembered. "If… _if _Sam wasn't killed by the Observers then who was the man Royce killed?"

Olivia shook her head. "I don't know, but we need to go to the lab and look at that tape again. I'll go get Etta; she can sleep on the couch in my office."

Peter nodded. "I'll meet you outside in fifteen minutes."

Without another word they parted, the desk lamp being the only source of light visible in the shadowed corners of their house. Just above it, pinned carefully onto a cork board sat the drawing of the tulip Walter had sent Peter last year. Where it once sat in darkness, it glowed with possibilities, a shining symbol that Peter had been looking for.

They were one step closer, a path now lighted with possibilities that a year ago he didn't believe existed. What was once Walter's prayer for forgiveness had turned into Peter's beacon for hope. His father traveled through madness and back to find answers to the proposals no one else dared to ponder. It was through those forbidden questions that Walter had once attempted do what was once deemed unimaginable and succeeded.

Perhaps it was Peter's turn to do the same…


	9. The Last of Us

**Author's Note: **Hello my beloved readers! Thanks for being patient! I just started a new job (nights, bleh!) so I've been picking at this whenever I am awake enough! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and hope it leaves you wanting more! Reviews appreciated as always!

* * *

**The Last of Us**

_Bozeman, Montana  
9:00am_

There were two things about Isabella Tuckerton that Olivia had decided the moment her and Peter stepped into the rotund woman's home. It was smaller than the traditional two-story colonial and tucked intimately back from the main highway. Dazzling summer oaks and tall evergreens dotted the property all the way back to the lake which fed a sparkling waterfall, diamonds seemed to glisten beneath the waters. Olivia had a hard time believing this woman was truly in her nineties based on the youth that creased her face, and her mind was sharp as a tack. Puffy cheeks kept her glasses in place. Her fingers were as thick as sausages and her ankles were the size of balloons, but that didn't matter to Olivia who could not stop smiling towards the woman.

First and foremost, Isabella- Belle as she preferred- was definitely a cat lady. That was evident enough by the ten or so stuffed mice that lined the walls and the four pairs of penetrating yellow eyes that stared at her and Peter the moment they entered. In a flash they scattered taking refuge behind the nearest piece of furniture. She didn't mind of course, for Olivia was never the cat person. That was Rachel, and her long-since-deceased cat Noella- the name Olivia always found ironic since the day her niece was born. However despite the small eccentricities Belle displayed Olivia couldn't help but find their host to be incredibly trustworthy and enchantingly charming.

The stout woman freely gave them a tour around her home and treated her and Peter as if they were family. A sudden jealousy arose deep within Olivia's chest, and the second point she discovered- that Belle's house was absolutely _stunning. _The architecture involved had immediately drawn Peter to look at it and the craftsmanship carved in the littlest of details. Built back in the twenties it was the home Belle's father had built. She was born and raised in this house and together with her husband raised a family of their own. Egg-white walls met with glossy oak floorboards and tall old-fashioned door frames. The stairs were hand constructed with the initials of her seven children still freshly etched in each step and browned by time. All around them wind chimes tinned with the slightest breath of wind.

There must have been over a hundred windows throughout the house that let in a magnificent amount of sunlight. Her late husband, Belle said as she hobbled towards the kitchen, was a baseball announcer for many, many years back in the forties and retired almost four decades later. Hundreds of autographed pictures and baseballs lined the living room as behind her Peter gawked helplessly. Babe Ruth, Mark Maguire, even a rare, glass-cased Jackie Robinson signed ball sat between other names Peter couldn't recognize. It was a treasure trove for sure, a walk through history that no private collector could ever rival.

Her favorite, Belle nonchalantly announced, was the Derek Jeter baseball she kept proudly on display next to Babe Ruth. "There's something about that man that just makes my heart fly." Chuckling she offered Peter and Olivia a hot cup of tea, lemon and cookies she had just pulled from the oven. Respectively they both took one and began to sip on it as Belle eased herself into an old recliner, sleek black glasses rested on the tip of her nose. "Now, Agent Dunham, what is it I can assist you with?"

Reaching into her jacket Olivia removed a copy of the sketch and folded it out, speaking slowly towards the elderly woman. "We wanted to ask you about the man you claimed to recognize from a tip the FBI had aired about two weeks ago. You had called our hotline saying you could identify the name and address of this man."

Pushing her glasses higher on her brow Belle brought the photograph square to her nose, ruffling her thick brows at the picture and nodded. "Oh yes, I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. That's Miles W. Seuss; he lives about twenty minutes up the road, way back in the woods. I used to see him at the farmer's market all the time," she sipped her tea, "Keeps to himself mostly, but still a very pleasant man. Always helps me with my groceries. He's some sort of computer whiz I believe. My boys tried to set me up with one of those adding machines but I couldn't figure it out. His son comes over during the winter to help me cut wood for the fireplace. He really is a wonderful boy."

Together Olivia and Peter exchanged curious glances. "Son?"

Her thick smile faded slightly, "Wes- he's seven or eight I think. Sad story, really. Miles and his wife married about eleven years ago, at the church on Local Street. I remember it was sunny and my Gerard, God rest his soul and I were off to buy a birthday present for my grandson. She was absolutely _stunning_, Agent Dunham… flowing red hair, _remarkable_ hazel eyes. Wes was born not too long after they were married, but she was killed in a car accident when he was two. We didn't see Miles for years. Then one day Wes came up to our door to ask if I needed help. It had been so long I didn't even recognize the boy. He looks so much like his father. Since then he comes over every other weekend to help me, and I give him fresh cheese or bread." She paused, concern flashed over her face to see the intensity the FBI Agents before her held. "Is Miles in trouble?"

"No," Peter dismissed quickly, "We've been searching for him for a while. Mr. Seuss may be using an alias, his real name we believe to be Samuel Weiss. He has actually worked with us before but we… lost contact. He has a particular set of skills and a certain expertise that may help us with a missing persons case we're working."

"Samuel Weiss? I can't say I've heard that name around here before, but I am happy that Miles isn't in any sort of trouble. Doesn't seem the kind. I'd hate to see that poor boy lose another parent. Such a tragedy when that happens." Silence fell before her as she sipped her tea. With a cheeky smile she motioned towards Olivia's left hand where a silver wedding band glistened in the light. "Are you married, dear? Surely a woman of your caliper can't possibly be single."

A shy grin spread across Olivia's face. "Happily," she motioned towards Peter, "We have a four year old daughter. Henrietta." Reaching into his wallet Peter removed Etta's pre-school picture from the insert he kept well protected.

"Oh my, she's _beautiful_," Belle winked a gray brow at Peter. "You're a lucky man, Mr. Bishop. Not many men in this world can balance home, work _and _a child or two."

Peter returned her smile, "It's not perfect, but it's ours." Quickly switching the conversation Peter handed Belle a pad, watching in wonder as she scripted the address they had been searching for. Her handwriting was just as flawless and smart, curved and belled as if it were a piece of art. They sat for a few minutes more and finished their tea. Being the gentleman that he was Peter reached a parting hand and assisted their host from her chair.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tuckerton, for your assistance and your hospitality," Peter concluded, shaking the woman's plump hand as Olivia began the walk towards their car.

Through her thick lenses she squinted, smiling, "You're quite welcome dear. I hope you find the answers you're looking for. If I may add… I'd place bets to say it's a boy." Peter's brows scrunched together as he froze in his spot in a profound curiosity, the confusion in his eyes made her chuckle slowly. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out as he turned back to where Olivia was standing next to their SUV, updating Broyles on the matter at hand. "I had five boys and two girls, Mr. Bishop. Call it a hunch from an experienced old lady. Have a good day."

As she eased the door behind him closed Peter walked slowly towards the car mulling her words over. Entering the passenger seat he sighed, glancing sideways at Olivia for a brief moment as she punched in the address Belle had given them.

Her eyes caught his blank stare as her gaze narrowed. "What?"

He stuttered helplessly for a moment, "Are you… you…?"

She huffed, "Am I _what_, Peter?"

"I… was… going to ask if you were ready. I… guess you got a head start on putting it into the GPS." Silently he cursed himself to allow his hesitation to sink in.

"Ready as we'll ever be," she sighed, putting the car in park and headed west. Over a row of trees the sun began to glow higher in the sky as they headed up into the mountain. Despite the short distance Peter's heart began to race. They had always had hundreds of questions.

Perhaps now it was time for the answers.

* * *

Pulling in towards the property immediately Peter noticed the rusted _Do Not Enter _sign that was bolted onto the wooden gate. Slowly she pulled past the large stone barriers and drove down the gravelly path. Another minute or two later Peter caught sight of a tiny wooden cabin that sat a few hundred feet before a long line of grass and woods. A thin wave of smoke barreled from the chimney and the smell of dirt and pine easily penetrated the windows of their car. As they exited they found the boy Belle was speaking about.

An ax swung high above his head and came down to split a log like it was a stick. Once, twice, three times they watched before approaching the boy. Sweat lined his forehead despite the dampness in the air. He was taller than any seven year old Peter had ever met with the muscles of a boy well into his teens. A deep thicket of dark black hair sat matted to his head and braces protruded from his lips. Still, when Olivia and Peter exited the car he gave another log one good swing before stopping and leaning on the handle of the ax.

"Can I help you folks?" He asked politely, "You don't seem to be from around here." He glanced at the license plate to confirm it was indeed a rental.

"Actually I was hoping to speak to your father, Miles Seuss?" Peter stepped forward, "My name is Peter Bishop, your father and I used to work together a few years ago. Is he home?"

"Huh," the boy hummed, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek pensively, "Whose she?" he motioning to where Olivia stood next to Peter. He could sense his alertness.

Peter squinted. "Her name's Olivia, she's my wife. She also used to work with your father."

"Your cops aren't you?" he stated flatly, wiping a damp towel over his neck. "I don't see many trucks as glossy as yours come through here except for when the police stop at Granny's diner." Sighing heavily he nodded. "I'll go get him for you." Resting the ax on the ground the boy hopped effortlessly up two stairs and walked past the screen door, hollering for his father.

"He's seven?" Olivia grinned, "Certainly looks older."

He matched the expression on her face. "Definitely has distaste for law enforcement, too."

She gave him a small nudge, "Seems like you two have something in common."

Before Peter could give his rebuttal an older man stepped out, a cloth covered in grease hung from his waist. Standing before them, his eyes squinted and his face familiar, was the living, breathing body of the man they knew to be Sam Weiss, the mystery man who knew secrets that man could only dream about. He was older than Olivia was able to remember, gray and silver hairs complimented the tufts of black hair that made his beard and head of hair. For a moment they stood and stared at the enigma from their past in utter disbelief.

"I'm Miles Seuss, Wes's dad, can I help you?" He asked, wiping the caked material from his hands.

"Maybe you can," Peter began slowly, "This may sound strange but… we used to know each other years ago. In fact, you helped us defeat an enemy that this world has never known about."

Miles laughed. "Sorry pal, I think you've got me confused with someone else. I'm just a computer programmer; I know nothing about wars or fighting. I don't think we've ever met before."

Peter stepped closer. "You seriously don't remember us? You were the one who told us about the machine and how to get Olivia into it so we could save the world. You told us the timelines we're incorrect-"

"Look pal," Miles threw his hands up as Peter got closer, "You've got the wrong guy. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you do," Peter huffed uneasily, a moment of panic arose in Peter's chest, and "We know your real name, Mr. Seuss. You're Sam Weiss."

Behind him Olivia watched the tall boy suddenly shrink behind his father's shoulders as his eyes grew wide with realization as the name Peter announced. "Peter-" she cautioned, her hand grasping his shoulder.

"You had a manuscript that you published, you disappeared the day I stepped into the machine, the day I was erased. You brought Olivia to the tomb of your father to find the crowbar. You-"

"_Peter_," Olivia pulled on his shoulder, "You're scaring the boy. Come on, obviously what we knew is incorrect. There are other places to search." Peter's eyes were wide with disbelief, protesting as she pulled him away. It only took a few feet for the man behind them to speak out again.

"Still giving up are we, Dunham?" She glanced towards Peter as they turned around, this time to find him with his arms across his chest as he sighed and shook his head. "So it really is you two. After the timeline was changed I never thought I'd see you again." He turned his head towards his feet and nibbled on his lip. "Come on inside. We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

"I've been monitoring the timeline for the past few years making sure we are on course with where we are supposed to be. After we parted I went to New York to monitor the progress. It seems like it took for Peter disappearing to put us back on track. A bold move if I must say so myself, but stupid." Sam chastised as he grinned at Peter, "You being erased was the necessity to bring about the proper future for both universes. Coffee?"

Olivia refused but Peter happily took the cup, giving her a sideways glance. "What do you mean?"

Sitting opposite them Sam sighed. "I'm guessing the idea of Olivia being the crowbar was a new addition given, hence why it was a hidden fail safe. The misfire that was the future Peter observed was the reason Walter created the crowbar in the first place. We just didn't know what it was until we had to use it. Like I said, no one ever mentioned the other side turning on the machine before us. Given this new course it changed my family's mission over time. I was to monitor the timeline and figure out how the machine was sent back. Up until you two came along that was at a standstill."

"Walter sent it through a wormhole along with the manuscripts and the crowbar," confirmed Peter, Sam nodded. "The First People were Walter, Astrid, even Olivia's niece and anyone else in the future who had a hand in creating the device. I had to make a different decision in order for Olivia to survive, which meant you being able to have a family in the long run." Peter rubbed his eyes, "How were you able to figure all this out anyway?"

Sam chuckled, "I know. It gave me a headache too but eventually I did."

"So then where does your son come into place? Last time we spoke you said you were the last Sam Weiss." Olivia questioned, but Sam the hesitation in his face was evident.

Circling the brim of his mug with his finger Sam paused. "I have you two to thank for that. Once my quest to discover who the First People were and the origin of the machine began it consumed my life, in this timeline and the other. I moved from continent to continent in search of any information I could. I was just about to move out of the States but… someone else came along that brought everything to a sudden stop, another hiccup in the timeline since Peter had pulled himself from existence."

"What was her name?" Peter mused, and by the slight shade of red that painted Sam's cheeks he was correct.

"Abigail," Sam breathed, "We met July 2004. I married her two years later and not shortly after that we had a son, also named Sam. Life was good for a few years until some people began to come around asking questions, conspiracy nuts I thought. So before we married we packed up and moved out here. I changed his name to Wes to protect him. But not long after that she was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver and since then… I had no desire to continue my mission. I had to be there for my son, and knowing we were on the correct path I let it be. I didn't interfere once I knew you two were going to be fine." He turned his gaze towards Olivia, "You and Peter were always meant to end up together; that was made clear in the manuscript that was sent back. Those pages too were never published." Something flashed in Peter's eyes that made Sam's senses rise, "But I take it you didn't track me down to tell me something I already knew."

Peter sat up straight, suddenly uneasy in his seat. "I wanted to ask you about the machine. You said it was built for me but I was wondering if there was any way to adjust it."

Pulling two pieces of bread from the toaster Sam huffed, "Why would you want to adjust it?"

"You didn't know?" Olivia asked, surprise laced in her words, "Walter disappeared from this timeline over a year ago. He left behind a video for Peter telling us he was fine, that he was in the future."

Sam suddenly froze at the counter.

Peter stood slowly at the stiffness that shuttered through Sam's body. "I had been having dreams of a different future- one run by Observers. There's no happiness and no hope. Olivia and I were separated and we lost our daughter. She was murdered by the Observers. It wasn't until after Walter disappeared did I come to realize that they weren't _just _dreams. They were visions a different future and one that Walter gave his life to avoid. I have spent months on this and the only conclusion I came up with is that this time we live in now is another timeline, that _this _is the correct future. The Observers were supposed to invade and yet they didn't because Walter sacrificed his family to save mine. It kills me to know he may be somewhere alone and secluded. I need to bring him home, Sam, and I need your help to do so. I was able to devise an interface that allowed me to use the machine. I want to know if there's a way to change it to search for Walter's biological interface."

With his back turned Sam chewed on his bottom lip. "You can't, Peter."

"I know it sounds difficult but I've been running my own diagnostics and I think it's possible. I just need a better understanding of the-"

Sam turned, stiff in his words, "No, I'm saying you _can't, _Peter. Yanking Walter from a future timeline without knowing _when_ or _where_ can cause disastrous results. The machine was meant to correct the present timeline, not pull someone through time itself. Pull him too early and his destiny is incomplete and you will revert the timeline. The visions you are having would come true, much like when you saw Olivia die."

That caused even Olivia to wince. "We'd lose Etta all over again," she whispered and Sam nodded in confirmation. Next to her she could see Peter's face go white. "So the visions we've been having _are _warnings. If we take Walter…"

"Then the future you saw happens at the moment of the invasion. You risk putting the world into a state that time has been trying to forget." His gaze turned to where his son was chopping more wood outside. "There are many things about this world I know, but as a father I can't let you do that. Sam, _my Sam_, is the last of us. I can't let you take my boy away. I lost my wife, I can't lose him too." He suddenly swallowed as tears welled in his eyes, "I can't. You have to understand this, Peter. What you want to do is putting the fate of our universe at risk."

"I won't let that happen," Peter pressed, "I wouldn't get Walter until we know it's safe; until we can calculate a proper time to get him even if that means waiting for years. Walter's plan was to make the scientists in the time he went to see that humans, even genetically engineered ones, need emotion. Given the fact we are here talking about this leads me to believe Walter's plan succeeded. We just need to know when the proper time is. I'm not asking you to make a decision now but I will ask you to help us so when the time is ready we can act."

Sam's heart swelled for the love for his son and the idea of possibly losing him… he couldn't even bear to comprehend. "I'm sorry, Peter. I can't help you." Those final words silenced him, leaving Peter to storm through his front door and out towards their car. With his back kept towards him Sam could hear the emotion in Peter's words as they echoed through the property. His final hope for getting his father back had failed, backfiring miserably against him.

Standing next to him Olivia placed her hands in her pockets. "I don't think you were murdered four years ago, as the case notes and forensics had concluded. The documents were doctored to make it look like you. I don't know how, but they did. I watched the surveillance tape hundreds of times and you and the Observer stood there for nine and a half minutes before he supposedly killed you. I think he told you we were going to be coming and made it look like a murder so we would come find you. Your hesitation and outright refusal tells me something else. You know where Walter is." Sam turned, his steady gaze locked with her. "I know you do."

Sam remained defiantly silent, his eyes locked on the young man outside.

Steady and true, Olivia continued to speak. "I truly haven't ever been able to figure out if you really are human and not something more. You survived the timeline changing a few times and yet your memory is intact. You _know_ how to help us Sam, but you won't because you're afraid to lose your son." He turned towards her heated gaze confirming her suspicions, "I can see it in your eyes."

Bowing her head Olivia stood and began to walk towards the door until another thought arose in her memory. "We found a body in 2036. Your name was on the license I found in the wallet. It was at least fifteen years decomposed. I'd imagine between the time the Observers took over and you were killed you fought for the Resistance. We found no trace of a family so I'm guessing that's because you must have changed the names, like you said. Your son would have been twelve. So as far as Sam knows in 2021 his father just… _disappeared _without rhyme or reason. Could you imagine the _burden _placed on a child like that?"

He went to say something but no words could form as he processed what she said.

"If it weren't for Peter's father Sam would be like Etta was: homeless, lost, and alone, growing up in a world that knows nothing of love and hope, only night and fear. You shouldn't thank us for saving you and your son, Sam," she whispered, "But thank Walter instead." Without another word she exited his home and made her way towards where Peter leaned against the car, his head hung low with defeat.

From his porch Sam stood in silence as they returned to their car and drove away, giving him not another thought to their memory. Sitting down in the chair swing he sighed, running Olivia's words through his head over and over, his eyes never leaving the dark tuft of hair that sat upon in son's head. As much as he didn't want to admit it she was right in every aspect. Of his meeting with the Observer, the way he was able to survive the timeline changes, and even the way he felt about his son.

"Pa," came the tiny voice before him, much quieter than anticipated, "You okay?"

Sam said nothing, instead drew the body of his boy into his chest and hugged him tightly, his mission continued to never let go.

* * *

_New York_

Sitting at the table in Nina's dining room the last thing Peter felt like doing was eating. He distractedly turned his fork around the tangles of spaghetti and offered a small smile when Etta slurped the noodles into her mouth, giggling as the sauce made marks across her chin. He could hear Olivia give a sigh of disapproval as Nina egged her on but secretly he knew she enjoyed the spectacle before her. There was something about watching the way Nina and Etta interacted that told Peter having Olivia's pseudo-mother in her life was indeed the right choice.

Quietly he excused himself and headed into the back room where his laptop slept. Powering it off he packed it into a bag and headed towards the dining room again, kissed Olivia and headed off towards Liberty Island. He hadn't been to the machine since they had shut it down almost four years ago. Now, standing before it he felt his breath hitch at the sheer size of it and the unknown power the device held. Turning on two computers that were closer he connected in a USB cable and uploaded the schematics they had programmed all those years ago.

He had spoken with Brandon earlier that day before getting back on the plane and even he was stumped. With the technology they had it almost seemed impossible to crack the code and figure exactly how the machine worked. Even Massive Dynamic couldn't break the encryptions that seemed years in the making, which sat just beyond their own technology's level of comprehension. If anything bothered Peter the most, it was that fact, that they could not fully understand the operation.

After a few hours he rubbed his eyes and placed his boots on the desk, leaning back pensively in the chair and simply stared at the machine in search of any or all inspiration- something maybe he hadn't thought of.

"It's bigger than I remember," said Olivia from behind him as he craned his head around, his furious heart calming the moment her hands cased his shoulders. "I'm sorry finding Sam didn't work out, Peter, I really had hopes he would help."

"It's fine," he sighed, leaning his head back against her. "We'll just have to figure something else out. I've had Brandon running his own set of diagnostics. He even created a new system to crack this thing but the technology is years beyond what our computers can understand. There are codes I've never seen, wiring patterns that have never been performed in this time. He's going to place a call tomorrow to a friend in Tokyo and see if they can make sense of it."

Behind them a deeper voice sounded. "I'd hold off on that collect call, Peter. I may know a way to crack it."

They both turned around quickly to find Sam Weiss standing behind them, a leather bag draped across his shoulder. His hair was shorter, his shoulders more square and determination shown in his eyes. "Part of me heard what you had to say, Olivia, and part of me wanted to ignore every aspect that you may be right. I owe it to Walter for giving me my son." He turned his eyes towards Peter. "For that I owe it to you. I'll tell you what you need to know, but this won't be easy. The knowledge I was told seems to be incomplete, perhaps even incorrect but if you trust this Observer as much as he lead on I think you'll find what you're looking for eventually."

"Who was the Observer? Did he tell you his name?" Olivia asked intently as Peter grabbed a pen and paper.

Sam nodded once. "He did. He said his name was September…"

* * *

_Reviews always appreciated!_


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